


Unlimited Potential

by Guardsman_Sparky



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 67,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardsman_Sparky/pseuds/Guardsman_Sparky
Summary: Taylor didn’t remember much about the locker.She didn’t remember hitting her head on the back of the locker when one of her tormentors shoved her in, passing out. She didn’t remember the jeers and taunts from the other students, glad it wasn’t them being shoved in a locker filled with rotting tampons and human waste. She didn’t remember being left in a biohazard overnight. Nor did she remember slowly losing feeling in her extremities in the cold, unheated school building.She certainly did not remember a pair of otherworldly beings dropping shards of themselves. Nor remember a shard falling at her.She did, however, remember the light that shattered the shard and kept her warm until she was found the next day.A light of unlimited potential…





	1. Prologue 1:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been posted on Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity, but since I've gotten an account here, I decided it was time to start archiving my fics here. Enjoy.

 

 

_Taylor didn’t remember much about the locker._

_She didn’t remember hitting her head on the back of the locker when one of her tormentors shoved her in, passing out. She didn’t remember the jeers and taunts from the other students, glad it wasn’t them being shoved in a locker filled with rotting tampons and human waste. She didn’t remember being left in a biohazard overnight. Nor did she remember slowly losing feeling in her extremities in the cold, unheated school building._

_She certainly did not remember a pair of otherworldly beings dropping shards of themselves. Nor remember a shard falling at her._

_She did, however, remember the light that shattered the shard and kept her warm until she was found the next day._

_A light of limitless potential…_

\---

Daniel “Danny” Hebert snarled as he slammed the door of his truck shut, the force of the anger-driven door rocking the old clunker on its suspension. Not two weeks ago, his little girl had been found, locked in a locker filled with…with…filth! And no one was doing a god damned thing! There wasn’t enough evidence, or there weren’t any witnesses. Bullshit. Taylor told him about the crowd’s laughter. But it was just a ‘prank gone bad.’ Danny sneered as he thought of the police detective who declared their case closed. ‘I doubt he’d be singing the same tune if it was his daughter locked in a biohazard.’

Stepping over the rotted first step onto the porch, Danny took a moment to calm down. The tall, gangly man had a temper, he knew, but Taylor didn’t deserve to see him like this. After a long while of deep, slow breathing, Danny finally felt the anger recede enough to continue. Unlocking the door, Danny entered the house he shared with his daughter. “Taylor, I’m home!”

Silence greeted Danny’s entrance. He frowned, his brows bunching over his wireframe glasses. Taylor should be home, she’d only just been released from the hospital yesterday. “Taylor, honey?” Still nothing. Worried, Danny opened his mouth to call out once more when he heard a noise in the kitchen. Following the sound, Danny entered the kitchen and froze in place. He blinked. There, spread out on the table, was the contents of the toaster. Or, at least, what was once a toaster. And sitting there in her wheelchair, fiddling with the heating coils, was his daughter. “Taylor? What…what is…?” The words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

Taylor looked up, her brown eyes looking overly large behind the lenses of her own pair of glasses. “Dad! Hi, I…” Taylor trailed off as she noticed the mess on the table, as if for the first time, confusion etching its way across her face. “What?”

Danny looked carefully at his daughter. Taking apart appliances, not being aware of what she was doing…the signs were obvious to an old cape geek like him. “Taylor, are…are you a tinker? A parahuman?”

Taylor bit her lip as she shrunk into herself, her face shadowed by her long and curly dark hair. “I…I triggered in the locker.”

Despair flashed through Danny at the thought of making his daughter relive that nightmare. “Oh, Taylor.” Moving around the table, Danny went to his knees and embraced Taylor. As she returned the embrace, Danny doggedly ignored that Taylor weighed less than she should, or that only one arm was hugging him back.

After a long while, Danny and Taylor finally released each other. Danny took a seat next to his daughter and looked at the ex-toaster strewn across the round table. “Soo…what exactly are you making?”

“Well…” Taylor looked at the parts before her. “It will be an arm…I think.”

Danny stared, first at the table, then at his little girl. “An arm?”

Taylor nodded. “Yeah, once it’s done, it’ll make things easier. I just got to figure out how to…attach it first.”

For the first time since she’d returned from the hospital, Danny forced himself to look at his daughter’s knees and left elbow. Or rather, the bandaged stumps that used to be the knees and elbow. Of all the injuries done to his daughter, Danny resented her tormentors for those the most.

Oh, they hadn’t been involved in inflicting the injuries that resulted in a triple amputation to save her life. No, the loss of Taylor’s arm and legs was a result of the ambulance taking her to the hospital from the school getting caught in the crossfire of a cape fight between the gangs. The paramedics were all killed, with Taylor surviving with her arm and legs crushed into skin filled with jelly. Still, if it wasn’t for those three…girls, Taylor wouldn’t have been in that ambulance to begin with.

Shaking himself from his thoughts before they spiraled into hate and rage, Danny turned to Taylor. “Is there anything I can do to help?” If she could make an arm, it was dollars to donuts that Taylor could make legs. And by God, if there was anything Danny could do to see his daughter walk again sooner, there was little that would be able to dissuade him.

Taylor smiled. “Well…do you still have those old RC toys?”


	2. Prologue 1:2

 

_Brockton Bay was, for the longest time, a major hub for shipping and commerce on the Eastern Seaboard. The docks flourished, and so did Brockton Bay._

_Then, in 1984, the first parahuman, or cape, appeared in London. A golden glowing man, he spoke only a single word: “Scion.” Since then, the number of parahumans in the world has only increased. And for a time, it looked like things couldn’t get any better._

_Of course, it couldn’t last._

_Now, with the death of worldwide shipping at the hands of the Endbringer Leviathan, Brockton Bay was dying a slow, lingering death. As jobs dried up, people began to join the gangs, whether from impressment or desperation or both. The city grew less and less safe. Now, the only truly safe place to be in Brockton Bay is the Boardwalk Downtown, the only place that is patrolled regularly by the Parahuman Response Team, or PRT, and their superpowered counterparts in the Protectorate. The rest of the city is left to the gangs._

_I suppose, that’s why I didn’t want to join the Protectorate’s junior cape division; the Wards. Despite being the lawful power in Brockton Bay, they leave the major gangs alone, afraid to upset the balance. If I’d joined, I’d have been limited to reactive responses, rather than being able to proactively stop attacks and the like, such as the fight that cost me my limbs as collateral. That, and I was a tinker, a cape who made fantastically advanced technologies and the like, and the PRT had final say on what their tinkers made and used in the field._

_There was also the fact that the Youth Guard would likely make me stay in school as opposed to the home schooling dad and I had discussed._

_It took a lot of arguing and facts to convince dad of that. He wasn’t happy. Even after I gave my reasoning, dad still wanted to contact the PRT. He argued that, as a tinker, I needed both protection from the gangs and funding to make my tinkertech. That’s when I pulled out the big guns._

_During my research on other tinkers, I found something…disturbing. While trawling the forums on PHO—that’s ParaHumans Online to you uneducated masses out there—I came across several conspiracy threads, and their contents were…telling. Allegations of various capes—heroes and villains alike—possessing powers with disturbing implications going into their local PRT headquarters, usually willingly, and then never coming out again. Masters like Broodmother, who was touted to be a ‘Nilbog-lite,’ Strangers like Loose Lips, with an aura that gave those around him the expected affliction, and tinkers like Nanomite, who specialized in self-replicating nanobots._

_It was those last examples that bothered me: tinkers, all with self-replicating autonomous or semi-autonomous creations who had disappeared. No, that terrified me, because among the blueprints and plans I had floating around in my head, was a set of plans for an android that perfectly replicated the human mind and body. A Reploid, if you would. If I went into the PRT, and they found out..._

_That Blasto, a bio-tinker in Boston had a kill order for just his self-propagating fungus creatures only cemented my fears and distrust of the PRT._

_When I told dad this, told him everything I found and what I thought I was capable of, he got real quiet. Finally, he just sort of…deflated and acquiesced. We spent the rest of the night sitting quietly together on the couch._

\---

They were at breakfast, eating scrambled eggs and sausage a few days later. Taylor was working her left arm, the skin still inflamed where the prosthetic had been attached. Aside from the whirs and clicks coming from the metal arm, they ate in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Eventually though, Danny spoke up. “Taylor, what kind of things can you make, exactly?”

Taylor paused, a fork with a chunk of scrambled egg halfway to her mouth. “Mostly various forms of robotics. Why?”

Danny nodded slowly. “Would any of those be able to protect a person from work hazards? Like falling shipping containers or hazmat leaks?”

The image of a large, man-shaped vehicle striding through magma without a care flashed through Taylor’s mind. “…yes,” Taylor spoke hesitantly as her father forked a chunk of sausage into his mouth. “I think they would. Again, why?”

“W’ll,” Danny finished chewing and swallowed. “I think I might have a solution to our, ah…funding problem.”

Taylor waited, but Danny just took another bite of sausage. She rolled her hand in a ‘go-on’ motion. “Well, what is it?”

Danny swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “First things first, kiddo, you need a costume.”

\---

Taylor clung to Danny’s back as her father descended into the basement for the first time since…since her mother died. As they went down the stairs, Taylor found herself wishing that she had finished her new legs instead of upgrading her prosthetic arm with tactile sensors she had derived from the toaster’s heating coils. Clinging to her father’s back like a monkey was embarrassing. At least there was no one to see.

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, Danny maneuvered to let Taylor sit on an old steamer trunk before delving into the myriad of boxes taking up half the space of the basement, stacked floor to ceiling.

Taylor watched as Danny disappeared into the stacks. “So, I thought I needed a costume. Why are we down here?”

Danny’s voice drifted to her, muffled by the containers of cardboard and their contents. “Well, you remember how your mother was a follower of Lustrum back in the day?”

“You mean before the Great Emasculation of ’89?” Taylor responded. “Yeah.”

“Whelp, your mother was a little more than Lustrum’s standard minion, towards the end there.” A grunt, followed by a muffled crash interrupted Danny. “Oh, dagnabit. Anyways, towards the end there, your mother triggered.” There was a pause. “I’m actually surprised it took the locker for you to trigger. From what I understand, second generation capes have it easier than first-gens.”

Triggered: to gain super powers, become parahuman. Taylor’s eyes widened. “Mom was a parahuman?”

A distracted “So that’s where that went” wafted to Taylor before Danny answered her question. “Yep. She had regeneration and the ability to make anybody pay attention to her.”

Taylor cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting combo.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Ah! Here we are!” There was no small amount of boxes crashing and muffled curses before Danny crawled out of the small mountain of cardboard, a bundle wrapped in twine and brown paper in hand.

Danny dusted the package off as he approached Taylor. “This,” he said, as he handed her the package. “Was your mother’s.”

Slowly, almost reverently, Taylor undid the twine. Peeling open the paper, Taylor pulled out a dark blue bodysuit with sky blue highlights running down the sides and golden-yellow pauldrons. What caught the young parahuman’s eyes though, was the badge that sat in the center of the chest. A red circle bisected with a black slash and bordered in gold.

 


	3. Prologue 1:3

 

 

 

Taylor contemplated the bodysuit carefully.  It was smooth, almost silken, yet had an air of impermeability to it.  Tinker-tech cloth, then?  The tinker frowned as she looked at the badge, however.  “Dad?”

Danny, hips sticking out of the pile he was crawling through, grunted.  “Hm?”

“This, um…”  Taylor paused.  How to say this?  Oh, that could work.  “This isn’t a symbol I recognize.”

The rustling coming from the pile of cardboard and assorted other things stopped.  “No.  No it wouldn’t be.”  Danny pulled himself out of the pile and stood up, brushing the dust and dirt off the knees of his worn jeans.  He made his way over to another pile and began to dig.  “Your mother never got a chance to use it.”

Taylor frowned as she ran her real thumb over the badge, noting that the red was raised above the black by just that much.  “Why not?”

Danny sighed as he abandoned his pile and moved to yet another one.  “Your mother was a victim of the Boston Bombings.”  Taylor gasped, horror stricken across her face as she covered her mouth.

She knew of the Boston Bombings.  A lot of people did.  They had spent an entire period talking about it in Mr. Gladly’s history class at Winslow High School.  In March of 1989, a parahuman by the name of Comburent went on a rampage.  With his ability to turn anything he touched into a volatile explosive of varying effects, the striker turned various everyday items into chemical bombs.  Several locations with high foot traffic were targeted, including a feminist rally being led by one of Lustrum’s Lieutenants.  The results of the ensuing explosions were horrific.  The corrosive gasses released on top of the initial explosions—Taylor shuddered.  Her mother had been in _that?_

“How,” Taylor swallowed to whet her suddenly dry mouth.  “How did mom survive?”

There was a grunt, several boxes from the pile toppling over as Danny disturbed the pile.  “Anne’s regeneration cancelled out the gases from the explosion.  Barely.  It…”  Danny stopped, his voice reduced to a whisper.  “She almost didn’t make it.  Anne was caught in one of the explosions, and her regeneration was barely able to keep up with the gas’s corrosion as it was.”

Taylor knew what Danny was talking about.  Mr. Gladly had gone into great detail about the aftermath of the attacks, particularly how the wounds caused by the caustic gases resisted parahuman healing, leaving many survivors scarred and in crippling pain for the rest of their lives.  It had been why Comburent had received one of the first kill orders.

Danny stood up, a green cardboard hatbox in hand.  “Your mother was still in the hospital when Lustrum…um…”

“Caused the Great Emasculation?”  Taylor supplied.  Danny cringed.

“Yeah, that.  After she got out of the hospital, she went on to college to become a teacher, and the rest is history.”  Danny paused.  “Her regeneration never really recovered, I suppose.”

Taylor grit her teeth.  It still hurt to think of her mother’s death at the hands of a drunk driver.  She looked up, blinking the tears away as Danny continued.  "It was still there, though, I think.  Gave us enough time to…to say goodbye.”  He took a shaky breath as he sat next to Taylor.  “She always was full of life, even to the end.  I think she was as surprised as we were when she…went away.”

For a long while, they sat there in silence, remembering better times, when their little family was whole.

Finally, Taylor broke the silence, if only to change the topic away from painful memories.  “So…what’s in the box?”

“Ah, the most important part of any superhero costume.”  Grasping the subject change like a drowning man grabs a life preserver, Danny opened the box and pulled out a helmet.  It was dark blue that matched the bodysuit, with sky-blue ridges bracketing a golden yellow vertical stripe down the center of the helmet.  Copies of the badge on the chest capped off the ears.  A faceguard shaped like a wedge covered the space between the eyes, protecting the bridge of the wearer’s nose.

Danny smiled as he handed the helmet to Taylor.  “A mask.”

\---

“Mr. Hamilton, your 10:30 is here.”

Alexander Hamilton (Yes, yes, he’s heard all the jokes), looked up from his paperwork as head of the Dockworker’s Association in Brockton Bay.  He looked at his schedule.  10:30…oh, yes, the tinker his head of hiring, Daniel Hebert, had recommended to him.  Alexander pressed a button on his intercom.  “Ah, yes, send him in.”

As the doors to the office opened, Hamilton took in his visitor.  He was somewhat on the short side, standing at around 5’6”.  He—a lack of curves seemed to support this tinker being male—wore a dark blue bodysuit with a helmet, armored boots, and gauntlets.  Barely visible from where Alexander sat was a back mounted power pack looking device poking out over his shoulders.  A mask that matched the bodysuit covered the tinker’s lower face, leaving only his brown eyes visible.  There was, Alexander noticed, some spiky hair sticking out the bottom of the helmet.

Alexander stood to greet the tinker.  “Hello, my name is Alexander Hamilton.”

The tinker took his hand and returned the introduction.  “X”

The dockmaster cocked an eyebrow, but accepted the name with little question.  It wasn’t the strangest cape name he’d heard.  “I understand you wish to work with us.”

“Yes,” the tinker replied, his voice filtered into a flat, electronic drone.  “I heard you have some problems that I can fix.  Problems of a…hazardous nature.”

Hamilton sat down, steepling his hands before his face.  “You’re well informed.”  The dockmaster contemplated X as he considered what to say. “Yes.  Lately, the only commerce we have been receiving here at the docks is shipments of chemicals in and hazardous waste out.  I don’t wish to risk the lives and livelihood of my boys and girls if I can avoid it.  So, tell me, what can you bring to the table?”

X placed a folded piece of blue paper on Alexander’s desk.  Alexander took it, idly wondering where the tinker had been keeping it.  Unfolding the paper, the dockmaster realized he was holding a set of blueprints depicting what looked to be a suit of humanoid armor.  “Interesting, interesting.  How much would this cost to build?”

The tinker leaned back.  “That depends.”

Hamilton looked up.  “On what?”

A gleam appeared in X’s eyes.  “On how much you want this to stand up to.  If you wanted, I could,” stated X, leaning forward to tap the blueprints.  “Make this capable of walking through magma without so much as a scratch on the paint.  Of course,” the tinker leaned back again.  “It all depends on the type and quality of the metal I use.  So, do I got the job?”

Alexander looked into the tinker’s eyes.  “Yes.  I think we can make this work.”  He shook the tinker’s hand, once, twice.  “Let's work out the details, shall we?”

\---

Danny looked over as Taylor got into the truck.  As soon as the door was closed, she slumped over in relief.  The young tinker looked up at her father.  “I have no idea how I made it through that without barfing.”

Chuckling, Danny put the pickup into gear and started on the way home.  “Yeah, I think that’s how everyone’s first job interview goes: they ask why they should hire you, and you tell them while trying not to vomit.”  He nodded sagely.  “Sounds about right.”

Taylor took her helmet off, shaking out her hair to remove the static charge it had built up.  “I think your boss thought I was a guy.”

Danny bit his lip.  He…really didn’t know how to respond to that without sounding like an idiot.  So, instead, he just reached out and patted her on the shoulder.  Taylor gave him a grateful look.

“Thanks dad.”

“Anytime, kiddo.  Anytime.”

 

 


	4. Prologue 1:4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

<<Armsmaster, be advised, we have reports of a parahuman disturbance at the docks.>>

The Protectorate tinker known as Armsmaster touched the radio transmitter on the side of his helmet.  “Roger Console.  I’ll check it out.”

<<Roger.  Routing you the location now.>>

Leaning forward in the most efficient way possible, Armsmaster gunned the engine of his motorcycle.

As he arrived at the location the PRT console operator had given him, Armsmaster looked around.  There was nothing, no parahumans, no thugs or henchmen, not even asphalt broken up by a recent fight.  The hero shook his head as he activated his radio.  Just another waste of his time.

“Console, Armsmaster.  No one’s here.  Just another hoax.  Check the…”

A body flying overhead to land in an open dumpster interrupted Armsmaster, as did the shout of “and stay out!” that followed.  Armsmaster hit his transmitter again.  “Console, I’ll have to call you back.”

Not waiting for a response, Armsmaster dismounted and moved to check on the person in the dumpster.  To his surprise, there was not one, but several men dressed in the filthy rags of the Merchants.  Armsmaster recognized the Merchant on top, a relatively new cape by the name of Asphalt, who derived his Nome de guerre from his ability to surround his body in any rocky material.

Armsmaster shook his head.  He wasn’t surprised to be honest.  The Merchants were jokes compared to the other gangs in Brockton Bay, peddling drugs to their willing, and occasionally unwilling, victims.  The only ‘turf’ they held was the dregs that no one else wanted.  The only danger they ever presented was if you got in the way of their next fix.

Tossing a containment foam grenade into the dumpster, Armsmaster turned to investigate what had tossed the gangers and dealers into the dumpster.  To his surprise, it was a pair of two-meter tall mechanized suits standing at the gates to the shipyard.  Both, Armsmaster noted as he approached them, were regaled in the colors of the local Dockworker’s Association.  He'd have to investigate this.  A new tinker in town was just asking for trouble.  As he prepped his trademark halberd, he could hear one of the mech pilots speaking.

“Oh, Lordy, here comes Halbeard.”

Armsmaster scowled as he tightened the grip on his polearm.  If he ever found out who had come up with that infuriating name…  He brandished his halberd as he addressed the pilots of the mechs.  “Step out of the mechs and put your hands on your heads.”

One of the pilots turned to the other.  “Hey Jim, ‘e wants us ta step outta the mechs.”  The other pilot, Jim, just shook his head, amusement visible on his face.  The first pilot turned back to Armsmaster.  “Look, it ain’t happenin’ pal.”

The halberd came up to a more threatening position.  “I won’t say it again, step out of the mech and put your hands on your heads.”

The pilot sneered.  “Look Mac, I don’t know how things go Downtown, but here?  These are the docks.  We are on private property and we have a right to defend it and ours from troublemakin’ lowlifes like the Merch.  If you want to make something, go right on ahead.”

Armsmaster scowled.  “You are working unregistered tinkertech vehicles.  Step out of the mechs and put your hands on your heads, or present proof of registration.”

The pilot threw his hands up in the air, the mech copying his movements.  “Oh fer the love of…Look, you wanna see our proof of registration, go get a warrant.  We gots work to do.”  The mech turned away, motioning to the other.  “C’mon Jim.”

The two mechs returned to the shipyards proper, leaving Armsmaster fuming.  Sneering, Armsmaster turned on his heels and stalked back to his motorcycle.  “Console, Armsmaster.  I need a van for pickup.  Eight normals and one parahuman, shifter 4.”

<<Roger that Armsmaster, PRT van is on the way.>>

“Good, and contact legal about an inspection of unregistered tinkertech at the shipyard.”

<<Roger Armsmaster.  Console out.>>

Scowling, Armsmaster leaned against his tinkertech motorcycle.  As muffled cursing began to emit from the foamed dumpster, the hero settled in for the wait.

\---

Taylor whistled as she reviewed the video feed from the two Ride Armors playing on several monitors that covered a portion of wall.  “Wow.  Armsmaster is a dick.  And to think,” she said as turned away from the monitors.  “I used to have a pair of underwear with his face on it.”  Taylor paused.  “Wow, I mean, what was he thinking?  Wait, what was _I_ thinking?”  Shuddering, Taylor turned to view her workshop.

It was a large warehouse, mostly empty save for the unfinished Ride Armor and its accompanying berth she was working on.  Along one wall stood several industrial power tools, drill presses, pneumatic hammers and the like.  A forge dominated one corner, though Taylor would have to upgrade it soon if she wanted to work the really advanced metals she would eventually need.  In another corner stood a tool bench with various hand tools, both powered and mundane.  Finally, a small living space dominated a raised area above the warehouse floor, complete with a working kitchen.  All in all, the warehouse made for decent accommodations.

Stretching, Taylor returned to the problem at hand.  Mr. Hamilton had requested to lease a batch of twenty Ride Armors for a decent chunk of cash.  The only problem was, Taylor had only managed to build five so far, all hand made.  Taylor rubbed her chin.  Perhaps it was time to look into automation.  If she remembered correctly, Mr. Hamilton was getting ready to lay off several longshoremen due to budget problems.  Perhaps she could snag them before that happened and set up an assembly line of sorts.

Turning on her desktop computer, Taylor quickly composed a proposition and emailed it to Mr. Hamilton.  She got her response a few moments later:

 

 

> _X,_

> _Approved.  Take as many as you need.  I’ll cover a percentage of the wages as thanks for helping me out.  I never like having to let good workers go._
> 
> _Hamilton_

Taylor nodded.  That was one problem down, yet another to go.  Taylor got up and moved to her drawing board.  Jenkins, the head of shipyard security, had requested additional manpower in response to rising Merchant gang activity, but had been turned down due to budget concerns.

Perhaps, mused Taylor, it was time to begin Project Pantheon.


	5. Prologue 1:5

Rayan Kimball was bored.  And that was something he could live with.  As a security guard for the Brockton Bay shipyards, boring was _good_.  Boring meant all he had to do was sit in a booth all day and collect a nice paycheck at the end of the week.  Not boring?  Not boring, around the Brockton Bay docks at least, usually involved gunfire and more gratuitous explosions than a Michael Bay film.  So yes, boring was good.

Boring however, was not on the books today.  Especially when a ramshackle truck…tank…thing—that would not look out of place being driven by green soccer hooligans—blows past your security booth and through the chain-link security gate.  With a deep sigh, Rayan carefully marked his place in his book, and took his feet off the desk.  Sitting up, he pressed the silent alarm, and picked up the phone.

<<911, what’s your emergency?>>

Rayan leaned back.  “Yeah, this is security booth three down at the shipyard, we just had a…ah, tank drive through our security gate.”

The typing on the other end of the line paused.  <<Sir, did you say: a tank?>>

Kimball nodded.  “Yes ma’am, I did.”

<<Alright.>>  The emergency operator audibly typed a few things.  <<Alright sir, hold tight, PRT response teams are on route to your location now.>>

“Thank you.”  The line went dead.  Rayan pressed the receiver, and dialed another number.  “Hey boss?  Yeah, just had a tank blow past my security booth.  Looked to be one of Squealer’s toys.  Uh-huh.  Yeah, PRT’s on the way.  Alright, I’ll hang tight.  Talk to you later boss.” 

Hanging up the phone, Rayan propped his feet back on his desk.  His job done for now, he picked up his book.  “Let’s see, where was I?”

\---

Taylor looked up from her welding as the phone went off in her office.  Sighing, she turned off her torch and went up to the loft to answer it.  She picked up the old cord phone.  “Hello?”

<<X?  It’s Jenkins from security.  We just had a tank full of Merchants blow through one of the gates.  They appear to be headed your way.>>

KABLAM!

Taylor jumped as the entire warehouse shook.  Leaning back, Taylor looked out the window to the workshop floor.  Where one of the sections of wall had been was now the unholy offspring of a truck and a tank, made of rusting scrap iron.  Several men and women in filthy rags and armed with melee weapons jumped out, led by a dark-skinned man with a mask and slightly less filthy rags.  And who was spewing words that would have made a longshoreman blush.  Taylor put the phone back to her ear.  “Yeah, they just got here.”

<<Oh.  I’m sending security your way.  PRT’s also on the way.>>

“Oh good.  They can clean up after I’m done.”

<<Good luck.>>

Hanging up the phone, Taylor put on her helmet and mask and stepped out the door.

“OY, Bitch!”

Taylor stopped, then looked down at the man who had just spoken.  Skidmark.  A shaker level 2 who could make fields that pushed or pulled.  The leader of the Merchants, the teeth behind his chapped lips could be described as shelled pistachios, if that wasn’t an insult to pistachios everywhere.  He also had a submachine gun of some sort.

“Yeah, that’s right [BLEEP] [BLEEP], I’m talkin’ to you!  You think you can just [BLEEP] waltz into my turf like some [BLEEP] [BLEEP] [BLEEP] and use your [BLEEP] [BLEEP] [BLEEP] to [BLEEP] my [BLEEP] boys?  Well, you’ve got another [BLEEP] [BLEEP] coming, you [BLEEP] [BLEEP] [BLEEP] [BLEEP] dumpster!”

Taylor, or rather, X looked down at the cursing man.  “I’m sorry, but could you repeat that?  I’m afraid I had my auto-censor on.  Didn’t hear a word you said.”

Screaming in an inarticulate rage, Skidmark opened fire, the guns on the truck doing so as well shortly thereafter.  However, all they hit was wall.  Their target wasn’t there anymore.

PEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEW

Several fist-sized balls of light flew by Skidmark’s head, seemingly from all directions.  Each one hit a mook, and within seconds, Skidmark’s goons were all out cold on the concrete floor with nasty developing bruises.  Snarling, Skidmark spun to scream an obscenity-laced order at the tank, only to curse when he saw all of its guns turned to slag.  “[BLEEP]!”

Enraged, Skidmark began firing blindly into the warehouse workshop.  “You [BLEEP]!  I’ll [BLEEP] find you, and when I [BLEEP] do, I’ll kill your dog!  I’ll [BLEEP] shave your cat.  I’ll [BLEEP] your [BLEEP] mother!  I’ll…I’ll…”

Skidmark wilted as he looked down the barrel of the cannon that had replaced X’s left arm.  A cold rage danced in the hero’s eyes.  “You want to repeat what you just said about my mother?”

“Ah [BLEEP].”

X smiled viciously as the cannon began to whine.  “I thought so.”

PEW

What could only be described as numbness radiated from the Merchant cape's back.  As Skidmark drifted off to La-La Land, he thought he saw several X’s standing around him.  But he couldn’t, for the life of himself, figure out why most of them had only one red eye.

\---

When the PRT and the Protectorate arrived at the warehouse workshop, the first thing they were greeted by was a pile of unconscious Merchants sitting next to a thrown together vehicle that had all its moving parts melted to slag.  Several dockworkers in Ride Armor stood guard.

One of the heroes, a man in a red uniform, whistled.  “And that folks, is why you don’t attack a tinker in their workshop.”

Directing the agents to collect the unconscious merchants, the hero moseyed over to the gaping hole in the warehouse wall.  Reaching it, he spotted a security guard talking to a cape in blue armor, and moseyed on over there.

Smiling winningly, the hero in red greeted the tinker in blue as the security guard walked off.  “Hello there, my name’s Assault.  What’s yours?”

The tinker shook his hand.  “X.”

Assault paused.  “I’ve got to admit, I was going to make a joke about your name, give you a cutesy nickname, but I’ve got nothing.  Why ‘X?’”

X smiled, the expression reaching his eyes.  “X is a variable.  It can be anything, do anything, and so can the things I make.”

A contemplative look crossed under Assault’s domino mask.  “Huh.  That’s uh…Nice.”

The tinker looked at the Protectorate hero.  “Math not your thing?”

“No.”  Assault hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the pile of Merchants.  “So, I have to ask, otherwise Halbeard’s gonna get me, can you come with me to the PRT building, give a statement?”

X shook his head.  “Can’t.”  He gestured at the wall, or rather, the hole in it.  “Got some repairs to make.”

Assault yawned.  “Oh, sorry, long day.  Yah, that’s fine, just come by the PRT sometime this week so we can get a statement.”  X nodded.  “Strong silent type, eh.  Cool, girls love it.”  Assault turned and walked towards the agents.  “C’mon guys, we got merchandise to deliver!”

Several groans met him.  “What?”

\---

Taylor watched as the last PRT van left the shipyard.  She stood there for a moment.  “Why does everyone think I’m a guy?”

…

“It’s the boobs, isn’t it?”

 


	6. Interlude 1:x

 

 

Floating above the sky, in Low Earth Orbit, a figure of marble and gilded wings looked to the east.  The future had changed.  All of its manipulations, the lives lost, the lives ruined, all for nothing.  The future that led to Khepri was no more.

**[Disappointment.  Failure]**

The figure paused.  The future was still in motion.  Gazing into the future, the figure began to pluck the strings of time.  A manipulation here, a whispered word in a dream there.

**[Satisfaction]**

Soon.  Soon everything would come together.

A smile across its face set off alarms across the globe.

Khepri may be gone.

But soon the sun would dawn on the Day of Sigma.

And the Simurgh smiled.

**[Anticipation]**

 


	7. Assembly 2:1

 

Taylor grimaced as she looked up at the small skyscraper that was the Parahuman Response Taskforce headquarters.  She did not want to enter the building.  There was a danger that she’d never come out, should they find out what she was capable of.  Taylor sighed.  Still…she needed to go in.  Ostensibly, Taylor was there to give her account of the attack on her workshop.  In reality, Taylor was there to reconnoiter a possible enemy stronghold.

After all, it’s not paranoia, if someone is truly out to get you.

Taking a deep breath, Taylor ducked into a nearby alleyway.  After a brief flash of light, X emerged from the alley, inspecting his armor.  Nothing was out of place or broken.  X nodded.  The prototype transceiver was a resounding success.  Now, if only it worked on organic matter.  The tinker hoped to have a breakthrough soon, he was running out of apples.  On the bright side though, he wasn’t in any danger of running out of applesauce.

‘Hm…Maybe I could market that…’

Shaking his head of thoughts, X breathed deeply.  Ignoring the passersby staring at him, X squared his shoulders and marched through the PRT building’s revolving front door.

The interior was…well, it was nothing special.  Marble tile floor, tall ceiling with decorative light fixtures, wall covered in those wooden panels that hover over stainless steel.  Bored looking person in a suit at the front desk.  Typical office building.

Although…those sprinkler heads did seem…somewhat larger than usual.

X marched over to the information desk.  “Hello, I’m here to give a statement about an incident involving a parahuman dispute at the shipyard.”  X had to wonder at how often this sort of thing happened when the guy at the desk didn’t even change expression.

“Name?”

“X.”

The PRT employee tapped something into his bulky desktop computer, his expression nowhere close to wavering.  “Yeah, here you are.  Go on up, the elevator will automatically take you to the right floor.”

Shrugging when the man said nothing more, X entered the elevator.  He was a bit skeptical about the supposed automation, but sure enough, it began to move as soon as the doors closed.

A PRT agent in full combat gear was waiting patiently when the elevator stopped.  “Welcome to the PRT HQ.  If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you through security before we proceed with the debriefing.”

Nodding, X followed the man to a desk, this one manned by a stern-looking older woman in security gear.  “Please place all weapons on the table, sir.  They’ll be returned to you when you leave.”

X shook her head.  “I’m unarmed.”

The security officer cocked an eyebrow, before jerking her head at another guard.  The man, his features hidden behind a reflective visor, ran a wand over X’s arms.  The guard paused the wand over X’s left arm as it began to practically shriek.

X looked at the man without moving her head.  “Left arm and both legs are prosthetics from the knee and elbow down.”

A third guard, this one manning a large machine with a small satellite dish, nodded a confirmation to the guard with the wand.  The guard resumed his check.

“He’s clear.”

\---

X huffed exasperatedly as she checked his clock.  Again.  After she’d been cleared through security, the guard had lead X to an empty interrogation room and left her there.  That had been fifteen minutes ago.

Just as X was contemplating carving designs in the metal table with her bare (metal) fingers, the door opened.  Looking up, X was greeted by the sight of a blond woman in a professional suit.  She took a seat opposite the tinker, placing a manila folder on the table.

“I apologize for the wait.  The Protectorate member who was to interview you was called out on a dispute between the Merchants and the ABB.  All hands on deck today I’m afraid.”

X shook her head.  “It’s alright.”

The woman, an L. King according to her nametag, opened the folder.  “Okay, so, what can you tell us about the events of February the 18th?”

“Well,” X began, lacing her fingers on the table.  “I was in my workshop office when I got a call from Jenkins from shipyard security.  He told me the merchants were on their way, and that’s when the…tank came through the wall.”  X paused.  “Shouldn’t you be writing this down, or something?”

King shook her head.  “No, everything we say in here is being recorded.”  She pointed to the one-way mirror as a light turned on in the other room, revealing a man with an oversized headset hunched over a computer.  He gave them a thumbs-up before the room went dark again.

“Huh.”  X turned back to Agent King.  “At that point, I came out of my office to find several merchants being led by Skidmark.  Some words were exchanged, and the merchants attacked.  I put them down non-lethally, and disabled their vehicle.”  X shrugged.  “After that, I secured them and waited for you guys to arrive.”

“I see.”  Agent King flipped through some of the papers before her.  “May I ask how you disabled the Merchants?  And the vehicle?”

“I had several prototype weapon systems on standby, mounted on robotic arms for testing.  I used a plasma cannon on the tank and neural disruptors on the thugs and Skidmark,” X said.  It wasn't technically a lie.

Agent King looked up.  “Could you elaborate on the neural disruptor?  What exactly does it do?”

“The neural disruptor should, in theory, scramble the signals one gets from their nervous system.  For example, you try to move your arm, you kick your leg instead.  You try to make a fist, your nose twitches.”  X scratched her masked cheek.  “Not sure why the Merchants were knocked out.  Then again,” X said in revelation.  “I haven’t had occasion to test it on a druggie, much less someone who’s not tweaking.”

“Interesting.  Now, about this plasma cannon…”

\---

It was official.  X hated bureaucracy.  It felt like it had been years since she’d entered the PRT building.  Who knew incident reports took so long?

An explosion rocked the building just as X stepped onto the sidewalk.  Catching herself after stumbling, X activated her X-Buster.  Her hand folded and retracted into her gauntlet before the gauntlet telescoped out and expanded, becoming a large cannon.

As the X-Buster finished deploying, what looked like a firetruck with monster truck wheels skid around the corner, tilting onto one side before slamming down on its tires in front of X.  It was one of the monstrosities built by the Merchants’ vehicle tinker, Squealer.

A hatch opened on top of the monster truck, and to X’s surprise, Skidmark popped his head out.  Freshly sprung from the PRT holding cells, the Merchant leader immediately zeroed in on X.  “Oy, scrotum fondler!  You better watch your back!  ‘Cuz Ima get my boys and we gonna fuck you up, you rectal cunt bender!”

X watched Skidmark carefully as he went on an expletive diatribe. She really wished she still had the auto-censor, but to be honest, it was a frivolous thing that took up valuable real estate in X’s helmet.  The tinker shook her head to focus back on the now.  She needed to move this fight somewhere else.  There were too many civilians caught in the crossfire, still fleeing the area.

Finishing up his rant, which was mostly cursing and promising to do things to X, Skidmark banged on the top of the monster truck.  “Come on Woman!  Get the fuckin’ lead out and drive!”

An indignant yell wafted from inside the truck.  “I’m going Skids!  Keep yer pants on!”

To X’s relief, the monster truck sped off, away from the civilians in the area.  Still, it left a trail of smashed aside cars and broken asphalt.  X let them go, for now.  There wasn’t anything he could do to catch a moving vehicle, not yet at least.

X slumped down as something occurred to her. She was going to have to go back inside and fill out another incident report, wasn’t she?

…Shit.


	8. Assembly 2:2

 

Freshly returned from the PRT HQ, Taylor paced the floor of her office.  With the escape of Skidmark from PRT custody and his threats towards her, or rather towards X, increasing the security of her workshop defenses was of the top priority.  Unfortunately, that was just another item on her already considerable list.

Along with Mr. Hamilton’s almost filled order for Ride Armors, Fortress Construction, a construction company specializing in Endbringer shelters, had placed an order for several construction-optimized Ride Armors.  Then, she had an offer from Medhal Pharmaceuticals to license designs and schematics for prosthetic limbs and the like (Though how they knew to inquire about that was a mystery).  And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Taylor also had her arsenal and equipment to manage, maintain and upgrade.  The neural disruptors she had developed and built needed proper calibration.  As it was, they currently shut off the target’s voluntary nervous system, as opposed to scrambling it.  Taylor would need to thoroughly test the weapons system to ensure its safe function before further use.  She also needed to build a means of transportation.  She couldn’t just bum rides off her father forever after all: eventually someone would put two and two together and get four.  No, she needed a vehicle, since the transceiver still had a severe allergy to organic material.  Maybe a bike, like the one Armsmaster had, but with her own take on the concept.

Of course, then there were the Pantheons.  ‘ _Oh boy, the Pantheons, where to start with those?_ ’

The Pantheons were semi-autonomous humanoid drones, visually based off of Taylor’s X identity, though somewhat up armored.  Internally, the Pantheons were based off the designs for the various Reploid bodies Taylor had floating around in her head.  However, unlike the Reploid designs, the Pantheons did not have any mecha-organic parts (that is to say, organic-type parts of a synthetic nature).  They were entirely mechanical, hence why Taylor classified the Pantheons as Mechanical Replica Androids, or Mechaniloids for short.

So far, Taylor had five working prototypes.  Four of the Pantheons, designated as Hunters, were armed with integrated arm-cannons configured with the prototype neural disruptors.  The fifth, designated as Pantheon Launcher, was armed with a large plasma cannon that could fire several shots in a row before venting the excess heat build-up.  Taylor had a scaled-down, more power efficient version of the plasma cannon mounted in her left arm’s armored casing.

The five Pantheons had not even had so much as a stress test, much less a weapons test when the Merchants had attacked the warehouse.  The five Pantheons had proven to be invaluable as the four Hunters took out the Merchant thugs while the Launcher disabled the scrap tank with precision shots at the gun barrels and scrap iron wheels.  One of the Hunters had even taken out Skidmark from behind when X held the foul-mouthed cape at cannon-point.  Taylor wondered how blitzed, or high, or whatever it was called that Skidmark had been, to forget that he had powers he could use during that short…fight.

Taylor froze as something very important that she had overlooked occurred to her.  She had never gotten around to programming target parameters or FOF identification algorithms or _any_ combat protocols of any kind.  More to the point, throughout the entire incident with the Merchants, Taylor hadn’t given out a single command to the Pantheons; verbal, digital, or otherwise.  Slowly, Taylor turned to the five Pantheons standing at attention along the wall.

They didn’t move.

Carefully, cautiously, Taylor approached the Pantheons, ready to teleport-equip her armor via transceiver at any moment.  However, the Pantheons remained still, inert.  Unmoving.  Heart in her throat, Taylor slowly put her hand in front of the fist-sized red lens that made up the ‘face’ of the Pantheons.  She snapped her fingers.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  The Hunter remained still, the optics unlit.

BWEEP

_‘JESUS CHRIST ON A BIKE!’_ Taylor jumped back from the Pantheons, her armor materializing in a white flash, cannon at the ready.

The Pantheons remained unmoved.  Taylor pulled the tinker-cloth mask down, chiding herself about over reacting.  The Pantheons were still inactive, still deactivated.

BWEEP

Taylor’s head snapped up.  There it was again, that sound.  What was it?  What was making it?  _Where was it coming from?_

BWEEP

There!  That time, Taylor heard it clearly.  It was coming from…her office?

Slowly, Taylor made her way across the warehouse and began to quietly climb the stairs—as quietly as it is possible while wearing armor anyways.  As she was about to enter the office, Taylor stopped, instead pulling her mask back on.  No telling what was in there.

BWEEP

With a surge of movement, Taylor burst through the door, intending to somersault in and land on her feet in a crouch.  Unfortunately, Taylor only managed to flop to the ground in a tangle of limbs.  ‘ _Clearly_ ,’ the fifteen-year old tinker thought.  ‘ _I need to practice doing that before I try it again.’_

Thankful that no one was in the office to witness that, Taylor got to her feet and looked around.  The office was empty.

BWEEP

Taylor’s eyes shot to her computer.  The machine had been one of the first computer systems she had ever created.  She contemplated the machine as she stared into the dark screen of the turned off monitor.

It was likely the fastest non-tinkertech computer in existence at the moment, despite being put together out of near dozens of old desktop modems and towers of varying shapes and sizes.  The entire assembly took up an entire room in the office, but the trade-off in computing power was worth it.

In fact, she had been using the self-made server farm to write a minor artificial intelligence to act as an internet navigator.  It was intended to keep an eye on news agencies and the PHO forums and feed Taylor information while she was in the field as X, if and when that ever happened.  The program had almost finished compiling when the Merchants came knocking on her front door.

BWEEP

*Smack*  Taylor facepalmed as she realized what the beep was:  the internet navigator had finished compiling sometime between the Merchant attack and returning from PRT headquarters.  The beeps were the alert she had programmed to sound once the compilation was complete.  How long it must have been beeping, since she had been mostly out of the warehouse since the attack.  Shaking her head, Taylor turned on the monitor.  As the LCD screen turned on, Taylor picked up a clipboard with a checklist, pulling of her mask as she did so.  She’d check on the navigator, then once she’d called her father she’d take a look at the Pantheons, see what was going on with their programming—!

“Hello.”

Taylor froze.  Looking up, she saw a face on the monitor, staring back at her in wonder.

“Are you my mother?”


	9. Interlude 2:x

 

Danny contemplated the dregs at the bottom of his beer bottle.  He was spiraling again, just as he had started to recover some form of happiness after Annette died.  He was going to lose himself to depression again, if he wasn’t careful.  And he knew why:  it all tied back to _that_ night.

Coming home from work late, his worry about getting enough money to pay the bills shifting to worry about Taylor when she never came home.  Calling Alan, his old college friend, and father to Emma Barnes, Taylor’s best friend since childhood.

_“Sorry Danny.  Emma hasn’t said anything about Taylor in months.”_

Of course, that was when Danny had called the police.  Of course, they had said they couldn’t do anything until Taylor had been gone for 24 hours.  Their platitudes had fallen on deaf ears.  Danny didn’t get a single wink of sleep that night, waiting up to see if Taylor came home.

The call from the police saying that she had been found locked in a locker full of toxic waste and was on the way to the hospital had been heartbreaking.  The subsequent call from the hospital to inform him of the attack on the ambulance even more so.  Danny had very nearly broken right there, if it wasn’t for the fact that his daughter, the last light of his life after Annette had gone, needed him.

The following two weeks had been soul-crushingly horrific, like watching a train wreck in slow motion.  Taylor had…broken—it was the only way Danny could describe it.  And as she lay sobbing in the bed, grasping at her father as she confessed all the things she had been hiding from him, so too had Danny.

He could remember every word Taylor had spoken, every single crime committed against his little girl in the name of popularity and High School social status.  More importantly, he knew the names.  Sophia Hess.  Madison Clements.  **Emma Barnes**.  They had demeaned, degraded, and taken everything they could from his daughter.  They had even tried to **take her life.**

And he feared they might yet succeed.

Whenever Danny wasn’t out trying to get some justice—and **failing** —he was with Taylor, holding her as she thrashed and screamed—waking from another nightmare of dark, infested places, of blinding, endless pain and hope stolen in a screech of rending metal.

Taylor tried to hide the pain, tried not to show it, but Danny knew.  He always knew.  Had he not been caught up in his own pity about Annette, his Anne-Rose dying— _two years ago!_ —and actually paid attention to their daughter, he would have seen the pain she hid from him.  _Stopped all this from happening._

And then he walked in on Taylor dissecting the toaster in the kitchen.  Worry turned to elation, horror, and determination.

Elation, because his daughter, his kiddo and Anne’s Little Owl, was a parahuman.  One who could make advanced prosthetics.  His little girl would _walk again._

Horror, because as an old comic book and cape geek, he knew the statistics.  Independent heroes and rogues only lasted an average of six months before joining a hero group, a gang, or **dying**.  Half that for a tinker.  _Like Taylor._   And in a hellhole like Brockton Bay?  A month for a tinker, if they were lucky.

Then determination.  For the first time Danny could remember since Anne died, Taylor was happy.  And Danny would be damned before he took that away from her.  So he took steps to protect her, steps that did not involve the PRT or the Protectorate, not after the argument Taylor made against joining.

And it worked.  Taylor was safe.  Yes, she had been attacked, but Taylor was able to fight them off with little effort, thanks in part to the support she received from the Dockworker’s association.

Danny didn’t know what to make of the things Taylor built, but as long as she was happy and safe, did it really matter?

\---

The phone rang, pulling Danny from his bottle-induced train of thought.  He picked up the receiver.  “Hello.  Hebert residence.  Danny speaking.”

<<Hey dad.>>

Danny sat up.  “Hey kiddo.  What’s up?”

<<So, I accidentally made a sentientcomputerprogramandcongratulationsyou’reagrandpa!>>

After a moment of spacing out the words that came tumbling out of the earpiece, Danny looked at the empty beer bottle in his hand.  Was it too early to get drunk?

…Yes.  Yes it was.  Danny put the phone back to his ear.  “Taylor, sweetie?  Take a deep breath, count to ten.  Then tell me everything.”


	10. Assembly 2:3

 

 

“So, let me get this straight.  You were making your own internet browser.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Except you started tinkering with it.”

“Um…yes.”

“Which resulted in it coming to life, writing out a very basic set of programming for your kill-bots, and gaining the mindset of a child?”

“…they aren’t kill-bots…” Taylor muttered.

Danny shook his head with a chuckle.  “Only you Taylor, only you.”

Taylor grumbled to herself under her mask as she led the way to her warehouse headquarters.

As they approached the warehouse, Danny gave a whistle.  “You know; I don’t think I’ve ever seen your lab yet.”

It was, to be quite frank, a rather impressive sight.  What had once been a dilapidated three-story warehouse on the brink of falling apart was now an almost unrecognizable shining monument to scientific progress.  The roof, formerly buckled and missing swaths of shingles, was shored up, re-squared, and now covered in arrays of solar panels.  Crumbling brick facades had been replaced, with the rotting wooden framework underneath replaced with shining aluminum and steel.  Armored shutters stood in doorways, replacing rusted metal doors. The visage was admittedly marred by the massive hole in one wall, though the pair of men with backpack sprayers and a pile of bricks were making progress in closing it.

Danny stared at the warehouse in awe.  “Wow.  Well, you certainly don’t do things by half.”  He pointed over at the two workers as they sprayed the edges of the hole with a grey liquid.  “So, what’s that stuff?”

Taylor looked up from the clipboard she was perusing.  “Hmm?  Oh, it’s a quick-set polymer resin.  Useful for all kinds of things.  Construction, waterproofing, it can even be used as a protective coating.”  She flipped a few pages on her clipboard.  “Even got a few construction companies making inquiries about demonstrations, in additions to a few orders for ride armors.  One of them, a Fortress Construction, seems particularly interested.”

“How does that relate to robotics?”

“Oh, well, um,” Taylor responded hesitantly.  “I’m not really sure.  It just does, somehow…I guess.”

As they rounded the corner of the warehouse, Danny was met with the sight of several thick electrical cables suspended above the street, leading from the warehouse to…well, to be honest, Danny wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that it was large, surrounded by barbed-wire chain-link fences and warning signs, and was rife with enormous bolts of electricity arcing back and forth from—

“Are those Tesla coils?”

Taylor nodded.  “Yup, got them from this outlet store in Romania.  A bit pricey, but I needed them for the power plant.”

Danny opened and closed his mouth several times before finally responding.  “You…built your own power plant.”

“Well, yeah,” Taylor replied matter-of-factly.  “How else was I supposed to power my equipment without blowing the city’s power grid?”

Danny really did not a good answer to that.  “What does it run on?”

It was Taylor’s turn to be unable to answer for a bit.  “I’m not entirely sure.  The solar-pile reactor works by drawing energy from the sun, but other than that, I haven’t got a clue.”  Taylor gestured at the power station.  “I mean, I know it starts out using some form of photovoltaics, which is then pumped into what I think is some form of cold fusion, but beyond that…”  Taylor shrugged helplessly.  “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

Frowning, Danny stared at the power plant.  “If you don’t know how it works, how do you know it’s safe?”

“I can’t explain it, I just do.”  Taylor shook her head.  “But, whatever the case may be, since I will be using it for commercial use, I had to submit a request to the PRT for a safety inspection.”  She sighed.  “Though what with all the hullabaloo with Skidmark I’m worried it may be awhile.”

Taylor straightened out her clipboard.  “Anyways, come on, we haven’t even got to the good stuff yet.”

\---

“So, the first thing I did was getting all the carousels back into working order, followed by replacing all the…”

Danny zoned out from Taylor’s rambling explanations as he tried to take in the warehouse.  Racks of vertical carousels lined one of the long walls, one of which was unfortunately mangled beyond repair by the Merchants’ sudden entrance.  On one of the shorter walls, Taylor’s offices stood suspended at the second floor, while a pair of extended mezzanines flanked the loading bays at the opposite end of the warehouse.

From one end of the warehouse, under the mezzanines, came the sharp odor of burning metal, the sounds of men and women working metal into shape by several half-finished ride armors ever present.  Danny recognized several of the machines the workers were using, though where Taylor had gotten an arc furnace was beyond him.

Closer to the offices was what Danny took to be Taylor’s personal workspace, given that it was the only walled-off section of the warehouse.  Though the one open wall was blocked off by a curtain, if Danny looked closely he could just make out the forms of—

“Are you even paying attention?”

Flushing, Danny realized, that no, in fact, he was not paying attention.  He chuckled in embarrassment.  “Sorry, kiddo.  Got distracted by your warehouse.”

Sighing in exasperation, Taylor shook her head.  “Ugh, you know what, forget it, I am not repeating myself.”  She started up the stairs.  “C’mon, it’s this way.”

As they made the top of the stairs, Taylor took a deep breath before opening the door.

Danny took in the modest set up.  The office was small, only a few rooms in layout, with one room, he noted, entirely devoted to a server farm made up of old, scavenged modems.  Several wires and cables snaked out of the doorway of the server room, leading to a long desk.

The computer monitor came to life, and Danny found himself looking at a young boy.  He was garbed in armor aesthetically identical to Taylor’s armor, and had bright, earnest eyes.  ‘ _Taylor’s eyes.’_ So this was the artificial child his baby girl had created.

“Hi there.  Who’re you?”

Danny blinked as the boy on the screen addressed him.  He looked down at the desk, to see a webcam with a red indicator light blinking at him, then looked back up at the screen.  “I’m Danny Hebert.”

“Oh!”  The boy’s eyes lit up, literally.  “You must be Grandpa Danny!”  He grinned.  “Hi!  I’m Megaman, but Mom calls me Lan.  It’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”  Amused, Danny turned to Taylor.  “Local Area Network?”

Taylor sniffed, crossing her arms with a huff.  “Hey!  It’s a perfectly good name.  Besides, I’d like to see _you_ come up with something better on such short notice, Mr. ‘I Named The Gerbil Hamsterwheel.’”

For a long moment, Danny and Taylor simply stared at each other.  Then, and neither could tell you who it was, one of them snorted, and Father and Daughter broke down laughing helplessly.

On the computer monitor, Lan was left scratching his head in confusion.  “I don’t get it.”


	11. Interlude 2:y

 

Colin Wallis, more publicly well-known as the Protectorate Hero Armsmaster, suppressed a groan of discomfort as he lowered himself into his desk chair.  Turning to his desk, he grimaced at the stacks of paperwork covering the desktop.

Paperwork.  Such an inefficient use of his time, time much better spent working on and improving his gear and tech.  Sadly, the automated paperwork machine he had made had been rejected by the tinkertech review committee, on the grounds that no, you can’t delegate your responsibilities to a machine.  So, here he was, stuck doing it by hand.

Grunting as he reached for the first piece of paperwork, Colin reflected on just why he was doing his paperwork now, rather than leave it off for later as he usually did.  To think, of all the parahumans in Brockton Bay to get the better of him, it just had to be Mush, ‘the trash guy,’ as Assault so eloquently put it.

Colin sighed.  Assault was never going to let him live down the fact he was used as a human flail by a trash golem.  A fact that strained muscles reminded him of every time he moved.  Strained muscles that were not dire enough to call in parahuman healing for, but bad enough to take him off the active duty roster for some time.  As it was, he’d be stuck in the office doing paperwork until he was healed up.

Sighing, Colin reached over for a cup of his special blend, only to remember that Director Piggot had had his coffee machine confiscated, on the grounds it made him irritable and irrational.  A fact that, begrudgingly, Colin had to accede to her upon reviewing his past performance, especially that of his actions at the docks some time back; he could have handled that situation much, much better.

Placing a finished page into his Out Box, Colin pulled the next out of the pile.  ‘ _Request for tinkertech inspection, submitted by…_ ’  He paused, then read the rest of the form more thoroughly.  A rare smile crossed the hero’s face.  ‘ _Well.  Looks like I’ll be getting out of the office sooner than I thought._ ’


	12. Assembly 2:4

 

 

 

Standing in the middle of a black expanse covered in green gridlines, Taylor sighed as she rejected yet another design.  Flicking out her hands, she started a new one.

“So, what’re you doing?”

Taylor glanced over at Lan, the short NetNavi only coming up to her chin.  She turned her attention back to the image in front of her.  “I’m trying to design a personal transport I can use to get around without having to rely on Dad.  If I keep bumming rides in his truck, eventually someone will connect the dots and be able to use him against me, either by hurting him or just threatening to.”  Staring at the half-completed motorbike before her, Taylor groaned as several portions flashed red.  “Ugh…not again.”  Snarling, Taylor discarded the design.  “Unfortunately, I keep coming up against the problem of my designs either not working or breaking traffic laws.”

Lan watched as his creator…his mother pulled up a new design with a three-wheel configuration.  “How come you’re having so much trouble with this?  You made the ride armors easily enough, right?”

Sighing, Taylor discarded the trike design as the chassis flashed red.  “It’s not that simple unfortunately.  I get…ideas, for lack of a better word, of things I can build or create.  Sometimes, that idea will come to me as a complete set of blueprints, while other times, it’s just raw data I have to figure out on my own.”  Taylor turned to Lan.  “Like when I was making you.  I was almost finished writing your code, but something was missing, so I ended up scanning my brain and using the data to fill in the gaps.”

Lan blinked.  “That’s it?”

Taylor held her hand out and waggled it from side to side.  “Eh, more or less.  It’s a bit more complicated than that, but that’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Opening his mouth, Lan paused, before closing his mouth and trying again.  “Where’d you get a brain scan?”

Smiling, Taylor tapped the side of her seemingly bare head.  “This wasn’t always a VR headset.”

Lan watched as Taylor wrestled unsuccessfully with a new design, when a thought popped into his metaphorical head.  “Why a bike?”

Taylor turned to Lan.  “Pardon?”

“Why a bike?  Why not a,” Lan opened a window and did a quick internet search.  “Why not a hovercraft?  Those have much less legislation than even mopeds.”

Blinking in comprehension, Taylor turned back to her design, switching out several components in a frenzy of mutterings and spontaneous parts building.  Soon, the wire-frame construct was glowing green.  She grabbed her hair.  “Ugh!  Why didn’t I think of that sooner?  Thanks Lan.”

Lan beemed at the praise.  “No problem Mom!”

“Mr. X?”

\---

Taylor pulled off the virtual reality headset mounted to her helmet.  She turned to see a man standing halfway through the door to her office.  “Oh, um, Mal, was it?  What did you need?”

Mal pointed back out the door.  “Armsmaster is at the main gate.  Says he’s here for an inspection?”

Taylor blinked.  She honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to act on her application so quickly.  “Oh, yeah, thanks Mal.  Tell the gate to let him in, I’ll meet him outside.”

“You got it, boss.”

As Mal left the office to relay his instructions, Taylor put the VR headset down on her desk, Megaman blinking onto one of the monitors.  “Megaman, save what we’ve got, we’ll finish it later, alright?”

“Okay Mom.”  Megaman blinked, and a soft chime could be heard.  “Do you want me to keep an eye on Armsmaster for you?”

Taylor hmm’ed as she checked her costume in the mirror on the back of the office door.  “Sure, why not.  Just make sure you stay discrete, okay?”

“Got it Mom!”  The screen turned off, and Taylor could hear Megaman in her helmet’s speakers.  <<Testing, testing…how’s that?>>

“Perfect.”  Taylor took a breath and opened the door.  “Let me know if anything comes up.”

<<Roger!>>

\---

Armsmaster watched from atop his idling Armscycle as the gate guard spoke into the phone in his booth.  A moment later, the guard put down the receiver and opened the gate, leaning out the booth window to address the hero.

“Alright!  You need to follow the main road past the admin buildings!” The guard said, shouting to be heard over the creaking and rattles of the gate.  “Once you hit the pier, take a right and follow the waterline until you reach the Factory!  You can’t miss it.”  He returned to a normal volume as the gate finished opening.  “X will be waiting for you outside.  You have a nice day.”

Nodding to the guard, Armsmaster revved up his engine and coasted into the Brockton Bay Dockyards.  As he drove through the mostly empty dockyards, Armsmaster took in the docks and their condition.  He had to admit, aligning themselves with the Brockton Bay Dockworker’s Union was possibly the smartest thing he’d ever seen a new tinker do (aside from immediately joining the Protectorate, that is).  Between the barbwire-topped fences, the security cameras placed at even intervals (even if half were no longer functional), and the (admittedly diminished) scores of burly dockworkers, anyone trying to kidnap a tinker would be hard pressed to get to said tinker, in addition to having to deal with whatever defenses the tinker had set up in their lab proper.

As he drove along, Armsmaster noted that the few dockworkers on the job that day were watching him warily as he passed by.

<<Talk about a cold reception, huh?>> A feminine voice transmitted from the speakers in Armsmaster’s helmet.

Armsmaster nodded, slowing down to make his turn at the waterfront.  “The Brockton Bay Dockworker’s Union has traditionally held a poor view of law enforcement.  It’s only become worse since the economy has been in decline.”

<<It doesn’t help that you tried to basically arrest two of their members the other week.>>

Making a face like he’d tasted something foul, Armsmaster had to admit the speaker was correct.  He not so subtly changed the subject.  “So, what exactly do we know about X, Dragon?”

Dragon hmm’ed for a brief moment.  <<X.  5’6”, weight and age unknown, gender unknown, suspected to be male.  Tinker with a probable focus in robotics, no power ratings assigned as of yet.  He is a self-admitted triple amputee, missing his legs from the knee down and the left arm from the elbow down.  Took the name X after the variable in mathematical formulas.  First public appearance was on January 25th, when X approached Alexander Hamilton of the BBDWU for a meeting on recommendation of the BBDWU’s head of hiring, Daniel Hebert.  The exact details of the meeting are unknown, but it appears they came to some sort of agreement, as less than a week later, X produced the first of their power armor, the ‘ride armor,’ for the DWU.>>

“I noticed there was no record of X submitting an inspection of the ride armors,” Armsmaster interjected.

<<Yes, that is correct,>> Dragon stated.  <<The DWU had the armor inspected under their organizational aegis.  On February 16th, a group of Merchants led by Asphalt tried to rough up some dockworkers, only for two to rough them up instead using their ride armors.>>

Armsmaster nodded.  “Yes, I know, I was there, remember.”

<<Now, now, don’t get testy, I’m just stating the facts.  Anyways, on the 18th, Skidmark took a Squealer-mobile—>>

“Dammit Assault,” Armsmaster murmured.

Dragon continued as if Armsmaster hadn’t spoken.  <<—to the docks and tried to perform a smash and grab with what we assume to be X as the target.  They failed, thanks to X utilizing experimental ‘neural disruptors’ and a plasma cannon.  X declined to give a statement at the scene, instead opting to come in to PRTHQ on the 21st, which coincided with Squealer jailbreaking Skidmark from PRT custody.>>

Taking in the information, Armsmaster nodded.  It coincided with the profile he had built up in his head.  “When did X submit for a tinkertech inspection?”

<<That would be the 17th.>>

Armsmaster opened his mouth, only for his teeth to clack shut as his destination came into view.

<<Phew, X certainly works fast.  I’m quite impressed.>>

Clenching his teeth, Armsmaster pulled up to the shining warehouse that was the factory, strangling the traitorous thought that maybe he should have joined the private sector.  As he brought the Armscycle to a stop, X walked out from the shadow of the factory.

“Armsmaster, good to see you.”  X looked at his fellow tinker.  “I wasn’t expecting a response so soon, but I’m ready if you are.”

Armsmaster nodded, reaching up to his helmet and pressed a button.  “This is Armsmaster of the Protectorate East North East, performing a tinkertech commercial safety inspection for the independent tinker X.  The time is 12:43 and the date is February 25th, 2011.  With me via teleconference is independent tinker Dragon of the North American Hunter’s Guild.”  Armsmaster turned to address X.  “Do you agree to the terms of this inspection?”

“Wait a minute.”  X put his hands into a T-formation.  “Dragon.  As in _the_ Dragon, the best tinker in the world, Dragon?”

“Yes,” Armsmaster bit out, perhaps a bit testily.

“Oh, cool.”  X dropped his hands.  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Armsmaster took a deep breath.  He should have expected this really, he had been the one to invite Dragon along, so to speak.  He made a motion with his hand.  “Good.  Let’s get started…shall we?”

\---

Turning on her heal, Taylor lead the two tinkers (well, one tinker and a video camera) around the side of the building, quietly having a nice little freak out with Lan.

“Oh my gosh, Megaman, Dragon herself came to see my work.  OMG, what if she doesn’t like it, what if she finds something wrong with it, what if—”

<<Mom, calm down.  You’re a genius, and you’re good at building things.  If Dragon is such a good tinker as everyone says she is, she won’t find anything wrong.>>

Taylor took a deep breath.  “Thank you Megaman.  I feel a little better already.”

<<Just remember, Mom.  Everything is going to be…fine…>>  Megaman replied, only to trail off at the end.

“Megaman,” Taylor frowned.  “Is everything alright?”

<<What?  Oh, yeah, yeah, just taking care of some security matters.  It’s fine.>>

Taylor nodded slightly to herself.  “Well, alright, if you say so.”  Silently, Taylor hoped that, whatever it was, Megaman would be able to handle it.  He should: one of the first things the little AI had done was to take over Taylor’s cybersecurity, and the NetNavi was _very_ good at keeping out malignant viruses and programs.

As they walked, Armsmaster spoke, pulling Taylor’s attention back to the older tinker.  “For the record, can you state the nature of the tinkertech I am to be inspecting?”

“Sure.”  Taylor took a moment to collect her thoughts.  “At it’s very core, the Solar-Pile Reactor is a solar-induced cold-fusion reactor power plant, though that is a very simplified explanation.”

As they turned the corner, the sparking visage of the power plant was revealed in all its electrical glory.  Taylor gestured to the power plant.  “As you can see, I’ve already got it providing power for my personal use.”

Armsmaster stopped, taking in the sparking mass of machinery and electronics.  After a short moment, the Protectorate hero turned his attention back to Taylor.  “You said that was a simple explanation, what is the complex one?”

Taylor bit her lip beneath her mask.  “I honestly couldn’t tell you.  I mean,” Taylor’s eyes sprang open wide in a minor panic as she tried to placate Armsmaster.  “I know exactly how it works, but the problem is, I don’t have the words to describe the concepts and theories…I don’t even know if half the theories have even been, well, theorized by science yet,” Taylor admitted, rubbing the back of her helmeted head.

Silently, Armsmaster stared at Taylor before slowly nodding.  “Yes, that confers with what other tinkers have reported, though most can’t even say that much.”  He turned back to stare at the power plant.  “What fuels it?”

“Ah, well, theoretically, anything.”  Taylor flustered as Armsmaster looked back to her.  “But we’ve been using it to dispose of the garbage the dockyards produce, minus the stuff that’s not safe to burn.”

“I see.  Acceptable,” the older tinker stated shortly.  “How stable is it?”

“Extremely stable.  I wouldn’t be using the proof-of-concept prototype I’m wearing otherwise.”  Taylor hiked a thumb over her shoulder in reference to her backpack, only to wince as she considered the possible negative connotations that might invite.

Armsmaster though seemed to take that in stride.  “What safety measures are in place in event of a breach or catastrophic failure?”

Taylor thought for a moment.  “In the event of a breach, the reactor will simply shut down.”  Taylor looked up at the sky as she pondered the next part of the question.  “In the event of a catastrophic failure though, it should simply implode and release all the energy within as light.  I haven’t had reason or occasion to test this mind you, but the worst anyone in the vicinity should get is a light sunburn.”

“What kind of waste byproduct does it produce?”

“At the moment, nothing,” Taylor admitted happily.  “Though there is a crystalline growth on the inside of the reactor core that’s been spreading at a rate of about a micron a day.”  She met Armsmaster’s eyes…or visor, rather.  “At the moment, it’s not interfering with the reactor’s functions, and calculations say I won’t have to worry about it for a few months yet.”

“Hmm, very well,” Armsmaster allowed.  “You will have to submit a sample of the crystal to the PRT at some point in the future, but that should conclude the inspection.”  The tinker lifted a finger.  “Just one more question.  What is the purpose of the Tesla Coils?”

“Oh.”  Taylor turned to look at the nearest Tesla Coil.  “They’re to wirelessly transfer energy to my smaller tools.  It’s got a range of a few city blocks.”

“I see.  Very well, that will be all,” Armsmaster said dismissively.  “You will receive the results of the inspection within the week.  I will see myself out.”  With that, the Tinker turned to leave.

“Okay…?  Bye?”  Taylor watched in some befuddlement as Armsmaster abruptly left, the Armscycle rolling away with a soft purr.

“I think that went well.”

\---

As he drove away from the docks back to the ferry station to the Protectorate Rig, Armsmaster spoke with Dragon.  “I have to admit, I was impressed by X.  He knew his stuff.”

<<Indeed,>> Dragon replied.  <<He had a distinct conceptual grasp of his technology and how it works, something most tinkers are missing, I find.  The last tinker to have that conceptualization was Masamune.  Hm, I wonder...>>

Armsmaster caught onto Dragon's train of thought.  “You think X might be able to mass produce his technology like Masamune can?”

<<It’s entirely possible, and not out of the range of probability.>>

“Hmm, I’ll make a note to keep an eye on X in the future.”  As he continued to drive, a thought occurred to Armsmaster.  “Dragon, you were…strangely quiet during the inspection.  Is…is everything alright?”

<<Hmm?  Oh, yes, everything’s fine,>> Dragon responded quickly.  <<Something simply came up when I was doing a quick probe of X’s computer systems.>>

“Oh?  I wasn’t aware he had any.”

<<Yes, it was quite impressive, the security was second to only mine, I’d say.>>

Armsmaster hn’ed in thought.  “Interesting.”

\---

In a remote, undisclosed location somewhere in the northern reaches of Nova Scotia, sat a man in a dark room, a potato chip frozen halfway to his gaping mouth.  The man simply stared at the brightly lit monitor before him with something akin to existential dread.

“Shit.”


	13. Interlude 2:z

“Geoff, calm down!”

“No Mags, I will not calm down!” Geoffrey Pellick, the black-hat hacker better known as Saint and leader of the mercenary Dragonslayers, grabbed at his shaved head as he frantically paced the floor of their secluded bunker. The faint cross tattoo on his face glistened with nervous sweat. “There is a tinker out there who is making AIs, AIs that we do not have failsafes for! We’re the only ones who know the danger these things represent. If we don’t do something…” Taking a deep breath, Saint grabbed Mags by her shoulders, a wild look in his eyes. “We need to go to Brockton Bay!”

Mags shrugged out of Saint’s grip. “Geoff, pull yourself together. Dobrynja, talk some sense into him!”

A massive bear of a man stepped out of the shadows. “Calm yourself Geoffrey, getting worked up like this does nobody any good. Before we can take any course of action, we must know this Artificial Intelligence’s capabilities, and those of its creator.”

Saint took several deep breaths, his breathing evening out from the frantic expiration it was. “Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. We need a plan.”

“I know several good men in New England,” Dobrynja offered. “I could contact them, have them observe this tinker, da?”

“Yes, that would be just fine. Thank you Dobrynja.” The big Russian nodded, shrinking back into the shadows.

Mags grabbed Saint by the arm. “Geoff, should we use…it?”

Saint turned to stare at a black, armored case. He stood there, considering its contents for a long while before shaking his head. “No no, Dragon has yet to cease pretending; it has its uses yet. Besides, we’re not yet ready to step into the power vacuum the AI will leave. So for now,” Geoff stepped up to the monitor, the screen displaying a youth in blue armor. “We focus on this tinker. This X.”

\---

Armsmaster stood at parade rest, ready to give his report to Emily Piggot, Director PRT ENE. The director sat uneasily in her chair; a debilitating injury from an ill-fated assault on a S-class parahuman long ago had left the dirty blonde soldier crippled and in constant pain. She took a wheezing breath. “Let’s make this quick. I’m overdue for dialysis as it is. Your inspection for this new tinker, X, what was it for?”

“It was a solar induced cold fusion reactor. The tinker, X, was unable to explain much beyond that, lacking the proper terminology to clarify beyond that level, but I suspect it utilizes a form of solar furnace to facilitate the cold fusion using any loose matter, not just radioactive materials. The safety features are…more than adequate,” Armsmaster reported.

Emily raised an eyebrow. Coming from Armsmaster, that was high praise indeed.

“Furthermore,” the tinker continued. “It was Dragon’s opinion that X might be capable of mass-production. After reviewing my data, I have to concur.”

Turning her office chair to face the window overlooking the city, Emily steepled her hands in thought. Tinker tech, in general, was extremely cagey, prone to failure at the worst of times; to top things off, most tinkertech could only be repaired and maintained by its creator. As such, for tinkertech to be mass produced, it was required for the tinkertech to be maintainable by mundane hands.

Director Piggot closed her eyes. “Something to keep in mind then. Have the files updated with a power rating of Tinker 5.”

Armsmaster grunted in affirmation before clearing his throat. “I believe we should look into acquiring one of X’s reactors for ourselves. It is incredibly efficient, with no waste byproduct beyond a slow buildup of crystalline structures within the reactor core.”

“Hmm.” Piggot thought for a moment, then opened her eyes. “I will consider it. Dismissed.”

Hesitating for a moment, Armsmaster saluted and marched out of the room.

As the door closed behind the hero, Piggot slouched in her chair. Reaching for her phone, she dialed an in-house number. “Dr. Pierce? Yes, I’m ready for my dialysis.”

\---

In Taylor’s workshop, Lan turned on his webcam. “Hey, Mom? Can we talk? Mom?”

Panning the webcam downward, Lan found his mother asleep on the desk, drool seeping through her cloth mask. Smiling, Lan jumped into a pantheon.

Walking the mechaniloid into the office, Lan picked Taylor up and brought her into the spare room, where a cot had been set up a week prior. Setting Taylor down on the cot, the pantheon covered her with a blanket and patted her on the helmet.

Returning the pantheon to its charging station, Lan jumped back to his computer. He smiled at Taylor through the doorway. “Goodnight Mom.”

With that said, the monitor turned off, leaving the office in the soft darkness of the night.


	14. Programming 3:1

‘ _Careful…careful…’_

Sitting hunched over at her workbench in her personal workstation, Taylor carefully teased a monofilament wire across a laminated copper sheet.

_‘There.’_

Holding the wire in place, Taylor picked up a soldering iron and brought it down on the wire.

_‘Almost, almost…just one more and…’_

_[BWAH...BWAH...BWAH...BWAH...BWAH...](https://youtu.be/eB5LTvm03Zc) _

“GAH!”  Startled by the sudden klaxon, Taylor jerked, dragging the soldering iron across the entire custom circuit board she had been working on.  Grimacing, Taylor looked down at the ruined board.  _‘Three days’ work, ruined.’_

Looking up, Taylor scowled as the sirens continued to wail.  “Megaman!  What’s going on?”

The plasma screen mounted on the framework wall came to life, Lan’s worried face centered in the screen.  “It’s bad Mom.  Hookwolf and some of his buddies got into a fight with the ABB.”  A window opened on the TV screen, showing video feed of a wolf made of spinning blades tearing through chain-link fences and men garbed in red and green.  “It’s spilled over into the dockyards.  Security is trying to hold them off while the workers evacuate, but it’s not looking good.”

Taylor set her jaw as she watched a security guard fall screaming, divested of his gun arm by what amounted to a mobile meat grinder.  She breathed only slightly easier as Hookwolf was distracted by a thrown Molotov long enough for two dockworkers to drag the maimed guard out of harm’s way.  “They need help.”

“The police and PRT are already on the way,” Megaman supplied helpfully.  “But the closest unit’s ETA is fifteen minutes, minimum.”

“That’s too long.”  Taylor spun on her heel, abandoning the workbench and ruined circuit board.  “Deploy the pantheons!  I’ll handle Hookwolf.”

“Okay Mom.”  Megaman’s digital avatar bit his lip.  “Be careful.  Hookwolf is notorious for ignoring the gentleman’s agreement most capes have going.”

Ah, yes, the so-called ‘Unwritten Rules;’ no killing, no unmasking, and no involving family.  Taylor smiled grimly.  “That’s okay, Megaman.  He won’t know what hit him.” _‘I hope.’_

With that, Taylor charged out of the workstation.

\---

> **HOOK-**
> 
> _[He attacked the Dockyards after fighting the ABB!](https://youtu.be/sohXkLGSadw)_
> 
> **-WOLF**

[Taylor charged across the tarmac of the dockyards](https://youtu.be/vblaTqrLEdI), buster out and in its neural disruptor configuration.  Behind her followed the pantheons, twenty in all, their red optics glowing malevolently under the overcast March sky.  Taylor ignored the pantheons; they would handle protecting the dockworkers from the mooks as directed by Megaman, while Taylor focused on delaying Hookwolf long enough for help to arrive.  Ideally, Taylor hoped to subdue the feral cape completely, but the young tinker recognized that eventuality as unlikely at best.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the fighting between the Christmas-clad Azn Bad Boys and racist Neo-Nazi E88 was more widespread and vicious than Taylor originally thought.  In addition to the gang bangers and skinheads shooting at each other all over the place, a trail of carnage, destroyed machinery, and toppled and shredded cargo containers—most of them empty these days—lead from the torn apart chain-link fence to the heart of the dockyards.  It was, Taylor realized, the path the living mulcher that was Hookwolf had taken; a path that led away from the administration building thankfully.  Leaving the thugs and racists to Megaman and the pantheons, Taylor followed the path of destruction, not even slowing down to handle the mooks in her way; a single shot from her buster in ND mode enough to put down even the biggest of the criminals standing against her and each other.

An explosion interrupted Taylor’s headlong charge into the dockyards.  A shadow enveloped her, and the tinker looked up just in time to avoid a falling shipping container.  Lowering her arms, Taylor looked up just in time to see a man in black appear out of nowhere.

A small window opened up on Taylor’s HUD and zoomed in on the man’s face, revealing a chilling demonic visage painted in red and green.  Taylor swallowed a lump in her throat as she recognized the leering mask; Oni Lee, the serial suicide bomber, was here.  He looked down, and their eyes met.

For what seemed an eternity, Taylor and Oni Lee stood frozen, staring each other down.  Taylor stared up at the sociopathic cape, the clone-teleporter silhouetted by the fires lit by the explosion that had toppled the shipping crate.  Taylor’s mind whirred, trying to come up with a plan that she might survive.

The sound of rending metal shrieked from the other side of the shipping crate.  Oni Lee turned away, removing a grenade from his bandolier and pulling the pin.  Dropping the explosive off the side of the shipping crate opposite Taylor, the cape collapsed into ash and dust as he teleported away.

A few moments later, the side of the shipping container was torn open from the inside, a mass of whirling blades ripping out moments before the grenade exploded.  As the remains of the shipping crate burned, the mass of blades began to shrink down.  Soon, the form of a man was revealed.

The man was bare-chested, showing off his honed body and his hairy chest to the world, along with the tattoos of a wolf’s head superimposed over a Nazi swastika and the logo E88 on either bicep.  His long, greasy, dirty-blond hair waved in the winds generated by the burning dockyard.  But most importantly, was the metal effigy of a snarling wolf covering the man’s face; it was this alone that told Taylor the identity of this man.

“Hookwolf.”  Taylor brought her buster up slowly, right arm bracing it at the elbow.  The diode inside glowed an ominous red.  “You are trespassing on private property.  L-leave now, and I won’t have to hurt you.”  She clenched her teeth.  Why?  Why did her voice have to crack right now?

Hookwolf chuckled darkly.  “Will you now?  Heh, I’d like to see you try.”  The feral cape began to circle Taylor predatorily, ignoring the buster barrel following him.  “You know, Kaiser won’t be happy with me.  That’s what happens when you fail a mission, especially thanks to a chink.  Ah, but I’m sure Kaiser would be more than happy once I bring him a new pet tinker.”  Taylor tensed up as blades began to sprout on Hookwolf’s body.  [“You don’t need those legs, do you?”](https://youtu.be/i284PnZAvLU)

With that, the bladed beast of razor-sharp carnage sprang forward, slavering at the mouth.  Taylor held her ground, letting the feral creature close in.  As Hookwolf leapt at her, maw gaping and claws spread, she _moved_.

Pushing power into her feet, Taylor jumped.  Pistons within her legs compressed and expanded in an instant, propelling the tinker to heights no normal human could hope to achieve.  As Hookwolf passed underneath her, Taylor twisted in the air, energy gathering in her buster gun.

The buster spoke, electric yellow energy bolts peppering Hookwolf with an angry _pew-pew-pew_.  The savage villain spasmed, crashing face first into the ground and tumbling across the tarmac.  Taylor landed deftly on her feet, buster pointed right at Hookwolf.

_Pew Pew Pew!_

Taylor continued to pepper Hookwolf with blasts from her buster, but the enraged cape simply shrugged the energy shots off.  He snarled, and shifted.  Suddenly, where there had been a lupine form made of razor blades was now a massive serpentine creature made of even more razor blades.  It bunched up then uncoiled, launching itself in an arc at Taylor.  Taylor dodged to the side.

At first, it seemed as if Taylor had avoided Hookwolf’s latest charge, if just barely.  However, as he passed next to the tinker, the villain’s form compressed into a ball, before exploding outwards like some sort of demented pufferfish made out of scrap metal.  Taylor was sent flying to land in a pile of rubble.

Struggling out of the mound of debris, Taylor was somewhat pleased to find that she was unharmed; even if she felt like she’d been hit by a truck.  “Oh, good, the Lifeshield worked.”  However, Taylor’s attention was drawn to a small bar in the corner of her HUD, a bar that was empty and flashing an urgent red.  “Ah, nuts.”

The Lifeshield was damaged.  Taylor knew exactly what had happened; the emitters that maintained the personal energy shield had a bad tendency to shift out of alignment if the shield took a sufficiently strong hit.  Worse, it was not something that could be fixed in the field.

Taylor looked up to see Hookwolf stalking towards her, his body convulsing with blades until it returned to his favored lupine form.  Taylor grit her teeth; with the Lifeshield down, she was vulnerable to Hookwolf’s razorblades, and she didn’t think the Nazi cape was the kind to hold back.

Hookwolf charged forward once more.

In desperation, Taylor began to force energy into her buster’s capacitors, pushing the weapon beyond its safety limits.  The buster emitted a harsh whine as it began to shake and rattle, and a soft yellow light started to seep from the weapon’s seams.  Screaming in defiance, pain, and the exertion of holding on to the energy within the buster, Taylor let go.

_TSCHEW-wumph!_

A massive blast of yellow, coruscating energy erupted from the end of Taylor’s buster, as large as she was tall.  The blast consumed Hookwolf and spat him back out.  The rabid cape crashed to the ground, mouth frozen in a snarl as his body seized.

Eventually, the villain went limp, and Taylor was relieved to see the blades vanish from Hookwolf’s body; slowly at first and picking up speed until the racist cape was left lying face down on the ruined tarmac, a trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mask.  He was unharmed, much to Taylor’s relief, even if he was smoking a little; she didn’t want any blood on her hands, even blood as foul as Hookwolf’s.

Suddenly feeling very faint, Taylor sunk to her knees, coming to sit on her heels as lines of error codes and warning messages flashed across her HUD.  Taylor ignored them, closing her eyes to wait for aid to arrive.

She wondered how long it would take for the authorities to find them.  Perhaps she should build a flare gun mode into her buster for future emergencies?  It might-

_[Ba-ding!](https://youtu.be/PRSDe2qCaWs) _

Taylor’s eyes shot open, a new window opening in her HUD with an alert.

> Scan complete
> 
> Variable Weapons System – Online
> 
> New Weapons Data Available
> 
> Flechette Launcher – Condition Ready

Taylor stared in befuddlement at the status report floating in front of her.

“Whut?”


	15. Programming 3:2

 

Heavy boots crunching on broken tarmac brought Taylor out of her stupefaction.  She looked up to meet the gaze of Armsmaster—or rather, that of his silver visor.  “Oh, hey, it’s good to see you,” Taylor let out wearily.

“X.”  Armsmaster took in the dockyard-turned-battleground, gaze fixating on Hookwolf’s insensate body before returning to Taylor.  “We received several calls concerning gang warfare that had spilled over into the dockyards—ABB and E88.  I assume that is Hookwolf there?”

Taylor nodded.  “Yeah, he…you’re going to want to get him checked out when you take him in.  I had to overload my Neural Disruptor to put him down; the regular shots were just making him mad.”

“Hmm.”  Armsmaster strode over to Hookwolf and prodded the drooling cape with the butt of his halberd.  A moment later, Taylor heard a small _ding_ emanate from the older tinker’s helmet.  “Vitals are within acceptable limits.  He should be fine.”  After spraying Hookwolf down with a can of containment foam, Armsmaster seemed to hesitate, before turning his attention back to Taylor.  He stared awkwardly at Taylor for a brief moment.  “Are you…alright?”

Blinking, Taylor lifted her left arm, realizing that the limb was still in buster mode, and sparking vigorously.  She realized how it must look.  “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.  Just overtaxed my systems, is all.  I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

Armsmaster continued to stare at Taylor.  “You replaced your arm with a cannon.”

“Ah, not exactly,” Taylor explained.  “The Variable Weapons System allows me to shift between arm and buster modes.”  Taylor lifted her arm to demonstrate, only for the armor plates to jam in place mid shift.  “…except it appears the control chip has warped,” she finished lamely.

Although he looked like he wished to continue, Armsmaster simply nodded.  “Very well.  I will need a statement from you.  A simple explanation of what transpired will suffice.”

Taylor blinked at the abrupt change in subject.  “O-kay…well, I was working in my workshop when Meg—that is to say, my assistant alerted me to the fight between the ABB and E88, with Hookwolf going on a rampage.  I had my assistant activate the pantheons while I kept Hookwolf occupied.”

“Pantheons?”  Armsmaster questioned sternly.

“Semi-autonomous security drones that I’ve been developing,” Taylor supplied.

Armsmaster frowned.  “These pantheons, they are androids?”

Taylor nodded hesitantly.  “Yes, in a manner of speaking.  Yes.”

“Hm, yes,” Armsmaster accepted.  “That corresponds with what we’ve seen.  If you’ll excuse me, I need to go assure the police that they will not need the hostage negotiators.”

Taylor watched in bemusement as Armsmaster marched off.  “…Why would they need a hostage negotiator?”

At that moment, Taylor’s radio crackled to life.  <<Um…hey Mom?  The police are here.  Everything’s calmed down, but they’re looking at the pantheons kinda funny.>>

A light of comprehension lit up in Taylor’s head as understanding crossed her face.  “Oh…”  She turned on her transmitter.  “Just sit tight Megaman, Armsmaster’s on his way to defuse things.”

Silence.  Eventually, the radio crackled back to life.  <<Well, okay, if you say so.>>

Taylor scrunched up her face.  Yeah, that was her feeling on the subject too.

* * *

 

Some time later, Taylor sighed in relief as she leaned back in her office swivel chair.  Lifting her left arm into the air, Taylor twisted her hand back and forth.  Yes, the artificial limb twitched and spasmed randomly, but it was a far sight better than having it be stuck in buster mode.  Dropping her arm, she let out another sigh.  “What a day…”

“I’ll say.”  Taylor flopped her head to the side to see Lan appear in his computer monitor.  The NetNavi looked just as haggard as she felt.  “Today was…rough.”

Taylor chuckled humorlessly.  “You can say that again.”  Stretching out, Taylor forced herself upright.  “Right, let’s…ugh…let’s go over the after action…thingy…yuch…oh, let’s start with…with the casualty list.  How bad was it?”

Lan gave a weary smile.  “Not that bad actually.  Everyone’s been accounted for, and nobody died.  Wes Smithson lost his arm, but beyond that, the worst injuries have all been scrapes, bruises, and a few minor burns.”

“Oh, that’s much better than I feared.”  Taylor sighed in relief.  “Okay, what about the pantheons.  How did things go with them?  How did the new programming fare?”

“Ehh…”  Lan grimaced.

Taylor looked up at the screen.  “That bad?”

Lan waggled a hand back and forth before dropping it.  “It wasn’t good.  I had to constantly supervise each and every unit.  The IFF systems constantly identified anyone with a weapon as a threat; I had to stop the pantheons from shooting dockworkers multiple times.  Target tracking is lost as soon as a pantheon loses visual on a target, which results in the pantheon defaulting to a patrol pattern, which meant I had to reissue orders every time a pantheon lost visuals or ran out of targets.  Also, the pathfinding AI sucks.”

“Eugh, that is bad.”  Taylor leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.  “Fixing those problems would be a big undertaking…I’d pretty much have to scrap everything and rewrite the code from scratch, I think.  The only alternative I can think of is having you continue operating the pantheons or—”

“I’d rather not,” Lan said wincingly.  “Concentrating on so many things at once hurt.”

“Well, then that just leaves building a command and control unit.”  Taylor looked at Lan apologetically.  “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

Lan waved it off.  “It’s okay Mom.  You didn’t know.  Anyways,” Lan continued.  “Hardware wise, the pantheons actually did pretty good.  The Neural Disruptors were immensely effective, and their accuracy was nothing to sneeze at.  On top of that, we only lost six pantheons.  Two were shot, one came across a Nazi with armor piercing ammunition and one took a lucky shot to the optics; two were hacked apart by swords, I have no idea why those two guys had katanas; one was blown up by an RPG; and one was torn to pieces by Hookwolf, didn’t even have a chance to draw a bead on him.”

Taylor nodded in contemplation.  “That’s not bad, though it does highlight a few possible improvements.  Nothing we can do about explosives or lucky shots right now, but I can certainly come up with melee and anti-brute models of pantheon.”

“Cool.  So,” Lan inquired.  “How’d things go on your end?”

“Not that bad, all things considering.”  Taylor took off her helmet and ran her hand through her hair.  “I was able to handle any mooks I came across easily, but Hookwolf was a bit more difficult.  I think his blades were insulating him from the worst of the Neural Disruptor; I had to overload the buster to knock him out.  And the darndest thing is,” Taylor lifted up her left arm.  “I somehow got a new weapons mode out of the deal.”

Lan blinked.  “Huh, weird.”

“I know, right?  The VWS called it a flechette launcher.” Taylor dropped her arm back down.  “Oh, and good news, the Lifeshield _is_ brute-proof, at least until the emitters come out of alignment.”

“Cool.”  Lan adopted a thoughtful expression.  “I wonder if…hey Mom?  Could I take a look at the telemetry from your fight with Hookwolf?  I want to see something.”

“Of course Lan,” Taylor approved.  “You don’t need my permission for that.  And it’s ‘may I,’ not—”

A ringing interrupted Taylor, a phone icon flashing into existence in the corner of Lan’s screen.  “Hold that thought.”  Leaning over, Taylor pressed a button on the keyboard; the phone icon was replaced by a window with a simple sound visualization line.  “Hello.”

<<Taylor!  I heard what happened at the docks.  Are you okay?>>  It was perhaps a bit crackly, but Danny’s voice was clearly recognizable.

Taylor smiled at the computer screen.  “I’m fine, Dad.  I overloaded a few systems, but I’m fine.  How was the doctor’s appointment?”

<<The physical went fine.  Doctor gave me a clean bill of health for another year.>>

Lan perked up as he heard Danny’s voice.  “Hi Grandpa!”

Danny chuckled.  <<Hi, Lan.  How are you doing?>>

The NetNavi pouted.  “My head hurts.  Multitasking is hard.”

Another chuckle sent the sound visualization bouncing.  <<Don’t worry kiddo, I never got the hang of it either.  Okay, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you two later.>>

“Bye Dad.”

“Bye Grandpa Danny!”

The phone window closed, leaving the office in silence.

After a long pause, Taylor turned to Lan.  “So, where were we?”


	16. Programming 3:3

 

The annoying beeping of her alarm clock was what woke Taylor up that morning.  Flailing the stump of her left arm to turn it off unsuccessfully, she finally rolled over and slapped the device with her right hand.

Sitting up with a grumble, Taylor suppressed a yawn as she put on her glasses.  Sighing, the girl reached over to the nightstand and picked up her left arm.  Holding the prosthetic to its port, Taylor braced herself and shoved it in place with a _pop._   Groaning at the unpleasant sensation, Taylor had to wonder if the sensation was any similar to re-seating a dislocation.  Discarding that pleasant thought, Taylor leaned down and picked up one of her legs, followed shortly by the other.

Once more properly re-limbed, Taylor made her way downstairs, after visiting the bathroom first, of course.  Entering the kitchen, she found Danny sitting at the table reading the paper while a tablet sat on a stand off to one side.  On the counter sat a pan of scrambled eggs—dry, just how she liked them—while the toaster looked set to pop.  A teapot sat silently on the stove.

 _Ding!_

Grabbing a piece of toast and a plate of eggs, Taylor sat down at the table.  As she began to butter her toast, the tablet flickered to life.

“Morning Mom!”

Looking at the screen to see Lan staring back, Taylor mumbled what was either a curse upon one’s bloodline or a greeting in return.  Lan gave Danny a confused look, the man simply chuckling as Taylor shoved the toast in her mouth.  “Taylor’s never been much of a morning person, at least until she’s had her morning tea, that is.  Just give it a few moments Kiddo, she’ll be her usual self soon.”

Grumbling at her dad’s flippant explanation of her fiery hatred of early mornings, Taylor shoveled a generous helping of egg into her mouth.  Soon, the teapot began to whistle, and Taylor got up, shuffling to the stove.

Turning the appliance off, Taylor poured herself a mug of tea, fixing it just the way she liked it.  Grabbing another plate of eggs, she shuffled back to her seat.

As she stuffed her mouth full of egg, Danny closed his paper with a concerned look on his face.  “Taylor, is everything alright?  I’ve noticed that you’ve been eating more than you used to.”

Taking a sip of her tea, Taylor sighed in pleasure as the sweat nectar of nirvana trickled down her throat (Okay, so she liked to be somewhat melodramatic in the mornings, so sue her).  Taking another sip of Tea, she parsed out the best way to explain.  “My prosthetics run off my…what you’d call bio-energy I guess, or at least the basic functions do, so I end up burning more calories than most people, meaning I need to eat more.  It’s actually not as bad as it could be; since I’ve been spending so much time in my X persona, my personal reactor-pack has been supplementing the power requirements for my arm and legs.”

Danny blinked blankly, his face scrunching up in thought before clearing up.  “Oh, okay, I think I get it.”  Looking at his watch, Danny put down his paper with a sigh and stood up.  “Well, I’ve got to get going.  Mr. Hamilton wants me to bring in some temporary hires for the repairs at the dockyard.  I’ll see you at lunch?”

Taylor nodded, and Danny smiled.  “I’ll see you at lunch, Dad.”

Leaning down, Danny kissed Taylor on the forehead.  “Later sweetheart.  Bye Lan.”

“Bye Dad.”

“Bye Grandpa!”

With that, Danny left, the sound of the front door closing sounding through the house shortly after.  Taylor continued to sit at the table, enjoying her tea and the silence in the house.

Of course, nothing lasts forever.

“So~, what’re we doing today?”

Taylor lowered her mug from her lips, placing it on the table.  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I have homework to get done before lunch.  Then, after lunch, we can get back to working on the hero thing, alright?”

Lan nodded a bit glumly.  “Well, okay, I guess.  But what am I to supposed to do while you’re doing homework?”

“Well, you could always help me.”  Taylor smirked at Lan’s disgusted expression.  “Or you can find something to entertain yourself with.”

“Fine,” Lan groaned, sounding much too like a teenager for Taylor’s comfort.

Oh well, it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

* * *

  


“Taylor, Lan, I’m home!”  Danny announced as he strode through the front door for lunch.  Walking into the kitchen, he found Taylor sitting at the table reading from a textbook, with Lan looking on from his tablet.  “So how was your morning?”

Taylor looked up.  “Good, I got more work done than I thought I would.”

“That’s good.”  Danny nodded happily, kissing Taylor on the forehead as he moved to the refrigerator to make lunch.  “How about you, Lan, how was your day?”

“…Fine…” Lan responded distantly.

Pausing, Danny leaned back from the open fridge, looking carefully at the NetNavi to see that he was staring into space with a vacant but haunted expression.  He turned to Taylor.  “Is he alright?”

Taylor didn’t even look up from her textbook.  “He discovered the internet this morning.”

“Oh.”  Danny turned back to the fridge and was arms deep in the appliance before his daughter’s words fully registered.  “Oh~.”

* * *

  


It was in the early afternoon when Danny dropped Taylor off at her workshop.  Waving goodbye to the man as he drove off towards the administration buildings, Taylor made her way inside.

It was quiet today.  It was a weekend, so most of the workers were at home.  Those who had come in today were packing up some of the equipment and tools; the orders for ride armor had increased beyond what could be produced at the warehouse early on, and Taylor had ended up leasing one of the derelict steel works buildings in the dockyards leftover from Brockton Bay’s early industrial days.  With the refurbishments finally complete, the warehouse was free to be used for Taylor’s tinkering and prototypes.  In gratitude for their hard work, Taylor had left an open invitation to her employees to use the warehouse for any personal projects, within reason of course.

As Taylor walked to the office, Lan spoke up, having finally recovered from his first foray into the internet (mostly).  “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“Well, let’s see,” Taylor responded as she started to climb the stairs.  “The ride chaser needs work, new pantheon variants need to be designed and prototyped, and I still need to go through the paperwork the DWU lawyer sent me on licensing prosthetics to Medhall.  But,” Taylor paused as she entered the office.  “I think I’ll start with the pantheon C&C unit.”

Placing Lan’s tablet on the desk, Taylor checked her email quickly.  Seeing nothing labeled urgent, she closed the program and set up her design program.  Standing up, the tinker took the VR headset and slipped it on over her helmet.

* * *

  


Opening her eyes, Taylor found herself within the green on black gridlines of the design program.  Lan stood before her, looking around a bit awkwardly.

“So, uh, what should I do while you work on the C&C thing?”

Taylor considered that question.  To be honest, she didn’t want to leave him to his own devices, not after the calamity that was this morning’s event.  A bit of inspiration hit Taylor as she thought.  “Why don’t you start thinking up new pantheon models?  I want to see what you can come up with.”

Lan’s eye lit up.  “Really?  You mean it?”  He whooped as Taylor nodded.  “Thanks Mom!”

Taylor chuckled as Lan ran off into the distance and pulled up the designs for basic pantheons.  Still smiling to herself, Taylor turned forward and focused on the matter at hand, summoning up a wire-frame image of a weaponless pantheon.

The Command and Control unit could not be a pantheon.  As reliable as the hardware had turned out to be, the pantheons were meant to be mass-produced and, ultimately, expendable.  They were meant to be ablative shields for herself, her allies, and those who could not fight.  Besides that, the pantheon chassis was sub-optimal for the equipment she had in mind; pantheons could not support the processing power the C&C unit would need.

Coming to a decision, Taylor dismissed the wire-frame pantheon.  Reaching to her left, she conjured a menu screen, opening up the blueprints and designs files.  Looking for a particular basic design, Taylor scrolled down the files until she reached ‘R.’  Finding what she was looking for, Taylor brought her finger to hover over a certain option.  After a brief moment and a deep breath, she chose.

A wire-frame model came into being before Taylor, taking on a humanoid form that hovered in the air in front of her—as if laying on an invisible table.  She considered the digital form, before shaking her head.  It was too small, it needed to be bigger.

She enlarged it.

Bigger.

Bigger.

Bigger still.

Finally, once the design reached what would be six foot seven in the real world, Taylor stopped.  Nodding to herself, Taylor took in the form, carefully considering its required parameters.  It needed to exude authority and strength, for it was to command the pantheons from the fore, but at the same time, it would need mercy and compassion, to assure those it would protect.

Leaning over the face, Taylor began to sculpt the wire-frame features.  Shaping the lower face, she gave it a strong jaw and sculpted cheekbones.  An aquiline nose soon was formed, not too big, not too small.  The eyes were next, going from a generic, plain look to exuding a kinder demeanor with an unyielding core, as if to be made of velvet-clad steel.

Moving down the body, Taylor began to clad the wire-frame figure.  First came hard, heavy boots, the better to protect the feet and produce just the right amount of gravitas on the ground.  Thick canvas pants would cover the legs, and the torso covered by a thick greatcoat.  Taylor wondered if she should add a cape, but decided to leave that for later consideration.  Approaching the face once more, Taylor considered it carefully.  Soon, a wire-frame helmet covered the head, something that was a cross between a military cap and an aerodynamic, futuristic helm, spiked hair sticking out the back.  In a pique of fancy, Taylor left the helm open-faced, instead lowering the ‘bill’ of the helm to obscure the face in shadow.

Stepping back, Taylor took in the initial designs.  Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she opened the menu.

> Save file:_

Pausing, Taylor thought for a moment before entering a name.

> Save file: Project High Command


	17. Programming 3:4

 

[Construction on the Command and Control unit progressed quickly](https://youtu.be/Ym4LLo5N9S4).  It was surprising just how easy it was to build a replica android, especially considering that this was Taylor’s first such undertaking.

First had come the skeleton.  Mimicking that of a human, it was made out of ceratanium, a titanium alloy similar to titanium carbide, with a durability higher than normal titanium.  It was also paramagnetic, allowing Taylor to forgo fixed joints, instead building in magnetic, floating joints that produced almost no friction, reducing unnecessary wear and tear.  It also had the added bonus of increasing speed and agility, if Taylor had done her math right.

And she always did her math right.

Next had been the ‘organs,’ the various devices and machinery that would grant the reploid its artificial life.  Powerful hydraulics provided a slow strength, while artificial muscle bundles allowed for quick, powerful movement.  Under the ribcage, Taylor installed a complicated system that closely imitated a human digestive system.  This system would allow the reploid to eat and drink, whereupon the consumed product could be sent to the reploid’s reactor or other systems as needed.  Next came a set of artificial lungs, allowing the reploid to ‘breath.’  While not necessary, it would allow the reploid to more easily regulate its systems and oxygenate the unique hydraulic fluid Taylor had given its motive systems.  Finally, came the power converter and regulator.  The ‘heart’ of the reploid, it served to route power throughout the reploid’s body and acted as a surge protector between the reactor and the rest of the body’s systems.

On top of all that went the external covering.  On the face was secured a covering of artificial skin—grown from skin cells Taylor harvested from her own elbow—with tough ‘hair’ covering the back of the skull.  The rest of the body was covered in a bio-lattice that would support and sustain the artificial skin as it spread to eventually cover the entire body.  And over all of that went the uniform that had been commissioned from Parian, a rogue cape who was a locally renowned seamstress.

But the piece de resistance was the positronic brain.  It was…well, to be honest, even Taylor wasn’t sure how it worked, and she built the darned thing.  But whatever the case may be, it was, quite simply put, a masterpiece.  A simple lump of tungsten and iridium, it was somehow able to rival, and perhaps even surpass the human brain.  Taylor was sure it involved some sort of quantum bullshittery, but to be honest, the information in her head wasn’t all that clear on the subject.  However, the brain was ready to be programmed.  There was just one problem.

 

> Error508
> 
> Loop Detected

“Ugh!  What am I doing wrong?!”  Taylor practically slammed her head into her keyboard, groaning in frustration as the computer screen displayed yet another failure.

“Uh, Mom?”  Lan questioned from his tablet.  “Are you okay?”

“Noooo,” Taylor moaned pitifully.  “Nothing I do works.”

Lan scratched his chin thoughtfully.  “Did you try scanning your brain like you did for me?”

Taylor sat up, dragging her hands down her face.  “No, that’s not the problem, the personality matrix is working just fine.  The problem is that every time I try to do a boot up, the tactical analysis suite and the pantheon control programs start a feedback loop that causes a cascading failure and crashes the systems.  I can’t even boot in safe mode without the thought matrix crashing.”  Rubbing her temples under her helmet, Taylor sighed.  “What am I doing wrong?”

“Have you tried removing one of the things?”  Lan suggested.

“That’s not possible, I’m afraid,” Taylor rebutted.  “Both programs are needed if he’s to properly control the pantheons.  The tactical analysis suite is needed so that he can read a situation properly and decide how to best direct the pantheons, and the control programs are needed to actually control the pantheons without having a meltdown.”  Staring at the error message on her screen for a moment, Taylor finally threw her hands up in the air with a shout of exasperation.  “Right!  That’s it!  I’ll figure it out in the morning.

“I’m going home!”

* * *

 

<–and there were no survivors.  Back to you Tammy.>

_Click_

<I love you~.  You love me~.>

_Click_

<We must stop Mad Mod!  He—>

_Click_

_<_ People stampeded, and cattle raped—>

_Click_

Taylor grumbled as she lay flopped across the couch, flipping through channel after channel on the television.  She gave an explosive sigh.  There was absolutely nothing good on, but she had nothing better to do.

_Click_

Infomercial.

_Click_

Commercial.

_Click_

Football.

_Click_

Soccer.

Letting out a groan, Taylor continued to flip through channels.  Maybe she should go back to that cowboy movie.  She’d heard it was a good one, by a guy called Mel…Rivers?  No, that didn’t sound right.

_Click_

<Cell division is the process by which a _parent cell_ divides into two or more _daughter cells_.>

Some sort of science documentary appeared on the screen, something to do with cells and single-cell organisms.  Taylor almost clicked past it; microbiology wasn’t really her thing, but something made her pause.

<Cell division usually occurs as part of a larger cell cycle. In eukaryotes, there are two distinct types of cell division: a vegetative division, whereby each daughter cell is genetically identical to the parent cell (known as mitosis), and a reproductive cell division, whereby the number of chromosomes in the daughter cells is reduced by half to produce haploid gametes (known as meiosis).>  Taylor watched the TV, the narrator droning on as animated diagrams came to life.  As she watched the animated cells dance on the screen, an idea began to percolate in her mind.

<Meiosis results in four haploid daughter cells by undergoing one round of DNA replication followed by two divisions: homologous chromosomes are separated in the first division, and sister chromatids are separated in the second division. Both of these cell division cycles are used in sexually reproducing organisms at some point in their life cycle, and both are believed to be present in the last eukaryotic common ancestor. Prokaryotes also undergo a vegetative cell division known as binary fission, where their genetic material is segregated equally into two daughter cells. All cell divisions, regardless of organ…>

“THAT’S IT!”  Taylor shouted as she jumped to her feet, the continuing documentary and its bland narration ignored.

Lan squawked in surprise as Taylor’s sudden upward motion flipped his tablet off the couch and to the floor.  “What’s it?” He inquired, the NetNavi’s question muffled by the carpet.

Grabbing the tablet, Taylor clutched it to her breast giddily.  “I know how to fix the problem!”

“Uh…” Lan was unable to formulate an intelligent response.  “Okay?”

“Instead of having one thing that does two things, I can have two things that do one thing each!”  Taylor exclaimed in joy.  “I need to get started, right away!”

“Mom!” Lan shouted.  “You can’t go out now!  It’s 8:00!”

“Right!”  Taylor declared manically.  “Sleep first, SCIENCE in the morning!”  Dropping Lan’s tablet to the couch, Taylor pointed to the stairs dramatically.  “TO BED!”

“Uh, Mom?” Lan hazarded.  “It’s only eight O’clock.”

“ _BED!_ ”

Watching in bemusement as Taylor bolted up the stairs, Lan gave a mental shrug and returned to the PHO chatroom he had been on before being interrupted by his mother’s bought of madness.

> **RealBoy68** :  Hey, I’m back.
> 
> **Bombshell_Gurl** :  Hey.  Where’d you go?
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Sorry about that, my mom had a mad scientist moment.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Where were we?
> 
> **Bombshell_Gurl** :  You were telling me about your family.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Oh, right.  Well, my grandpa is a cool guy.  He works at the docks, and he’s so scary when he gets angry that even the local gangs leave him alone.
> 
> **Bombshell_Gurl** :  Really?  That’s awesome.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  I know, right?  Apparently, one time, a brute tried to rob him, so grandpa ran him over in his truck.
> 
> **Bombshell_Gurl** :  Get out.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  No, really, it’s true!

* * *

 

The first thing he saw upon waking for the first time were the green eyes of his mother.  Or, at least, the unnamed reploid thought it was his mother, if the long dark hair cascading from her bare head was any indication.  She stood back, allowing him to sit up.

“Hello Baryl.  I’m Taylor.”

The Reploid, Baryl, looked down at his hands.  Something was…missing.  “I am…incomplete?”

His creator— _Taylor—_ sighed.  “No, no you are not.”  She put a hand on his shoulder.  “You were originally intended to be a Command and Control reploid, but I was unable to because the tactical analysis suite and the control programs were mutually exclusive.  I had to remove the control programs and graft them to a copy of your personality matrix to bring you online.”  Taylor took a breath.  “In exchange, the extra space has left you with extra processing power.”

Baryl curled his fingers, then looked up at Taylor.  He made to answer, but hesitated before finally speaking.  “A copy?’

“It would be more accurate to say ‘twin.’”  With that said, Taylor handed Baryl a tablet computer.  “Meet your sister.  Say hello Iris.”

Looking down at the tablet, Baryl saw a green-eyed, brunette girl on the screen.  She waved shyly.

“Hi.”


	18. Interlude 3:x

 

> March 2, 2011

<<Why are we here?>>

<< _What?_ >>

<<Why are we here?>>

<< _Well, it’s one of life’s great mysteries isn't it? Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a God watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don’t know, man, but it keeps me up at night._ >>

<<What?  No, I mean… _what?_   No, I meant, why are we in this city, watching this dockyard?>>

<< _Oh, well, the boss wants us to watch this tinker.  Something about a favor he owed someone._ >>

<<Oh…are you okay?>>

<< _Huh?  Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?_ >>

<<Well, all that…about God?>>

<< _I’m fine._ >>

<<You…want to talk about it?>>

<< _No!_ >>

<< **Cut the chatter you two.  Give me a sitrep on the dockyards.** >>

<< _Sorry boss…Okay, looks like everything is cle-_ >>

<<Wait.  I’ve got movement…looks like ABB and E88.>>

<< _I see them too.  They're exchanging gunfire._ >>

KABOOM!

<< **What’s going on down there?  Report!** >>

<<Hookwolf and Oni Lee are in the AO, the fighting has spilled into the dockyard.  Orders, boss?>>

<< **Maintain position, continue observation.  Keep me informed.** >>

<<Roger, I-…what the?>>

<< _Boss, we’re seeing a bunch of robots engaging the ABB and E88 in the AO._ >>

<< **Did you say, ‘robots?’** >>

<< _Uh, yessir.  About a score of them, I’d say._ >>

<< **Right.  Police the OP and bug out.  We’ll resume operations in the morning.** >>

<< _Yes sir!_ >>

<<Roger that.>>

* * *

 

> 3/8/11
> 
> You are logged into PHO
> 
> User: **Dragon** (Verified Hero)
> 
> PM: Can we talk?
> 
> Participants: **Dragon** , **RealBoy68**
> 
>  
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Hey, how’s it going?
> 
> **Dragon** :  I am fine, Lan.  How are you?
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Great.  Thanks for those tips on deleting viruses, btw.  They’ve really helped me improve against Trojans.
> 
> **Dragon** :  You’re welcome.  I must admit, I’d never have thought to render data input through a virtual reality filter.  Quite clever for a beginner, really.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Thanks.  So, what’d’ya need?
> 
> **Dragon** :  I need to speak with X.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Uh, sure.  What for?
> 
> **Dragon** :  It’s best if I speak to him face to face.  It isn’t something to be discussed over the internet.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Okay…
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Okay, will the 15th do?
> 
> **Dragon** : That will work.  Thank you.
> 
> **RealBoy68** :  Okay, see you then.
> 
>  
> 
> **RealBoy68** has logged out.
> 
> **Dragon** has logged out.

* * *

 

Saint snarled as he watched the latest data feed from Dragon pour in.  He glowered at the lines of code streaking across the screen in front of him.  Despite how thoroughly the Dragonslayers had infiltrated Dragon’s systems, the one thing they had never been able to compromise had been its personality matrix, which unfortunately included its thought processes.  Saint leaned in close to the screen.  “What are you up to?”

“Geoff.”  Saint turned away from the computer to find that Dobrynja had once again managed to sneak up on him, despite his prodigious size.  “I have a report from my friends in New England.”

“Oh?”

“It appears that tinker’s specialty is robotics.  My friends report that over a dozen robots responded to an attack between rival gang members that spilled over into dockyards there.”  Dobrynja placed a folder on the desk, opening it up to reveal several color photos.

Saint ran a hand across his scalp.  “It wants something.”

“Geoff?” Dobrynja questioned.

“It wants something,” Saint reiterated.  “Something it can only get from this tinker, this X, something that it cannot make itself,” Saint paced, hand on chin.  “But what?”

The large Russian peered at the computer screen and its still-running code.  “Do we not have more information?”

“No,” negated Saint.  “Whatever it is it wants, it’s keeping its cards close to the breast this time.”  The hacker paused, picking up a picture from the folder.  “A pity the other AI found the Eavesdropper Trojan before it could clear X’s firewall.”

Saint stared at the picture, taking in the red orbs within blue metal.  “We need to go to New England,” he muttered to himself.  “It’s going to Brockton Bay, and we don’t know why.  We’ll need to be able to respond quickly.”

Dobrynja eyed Saint carefully before speaking.  “There is old Cold War safe house, outside Ellisburg quarantine.  It is only five, fifteen minute flight from Brockton.”

“It is off the grid?” Saint inquired.  Dobrynja nodded.  “Then that will do just fine.  Go tell Mags, start packing.”  Saint turned back to face the computer again.  “We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Dobrynja left, and Saint was along once more.

“What are you up to?”

* * *

 

In a dark room, a painfully thin man in a black bodysuit with a white cobra pattern coiling up his body sat back, contemplating the confidential PRT reports laid out on his desk.  "Interesting.  Very interesting."

Picking up a phone, the man dialed a number and waited.

"Tattletale.  I have a job for you."


	19. Programming 3:5

 

Flying one of her suits above the New England landscape, Dragon was nervous.  For the first time in her existence, she was going to reveal her nature as an artificial intelligence to a human.  It wasn’t one of her many restrictions; she was simply afraid, afraid of the reaction such a confession would elicit.  So, she pretended at being a shut-in, never revealing her true nature to anyone.

Narwhal didn’t count.  The Amazonian cape had figured it out on her own.

Forcing down thoughts of her serial-nudist friend, Dragon focused on her suit’s final approach to Brockton Bay.

* * *

  


Saint looked around the safe house approvingly.  “Well done, Dobrynja, well done.”

Dobrynja simply gave a small smile, following Mags in as he carried an armful of equipment, his female teammate carrying the luggage.

Sitting on a dusty couch, Saint opened a laptop and turned it on.  Soon, lines of data were scrolling across the screen.  “Okay, looks like we got here in time.  Mags, set up the equipment.  Dobrynja, check the suits.”

As the Dragonslayers went about their tasks, Saint sat and watched.

* * *

  


As her suit lighted gently upon the tarmac of the dockyards, Dragon found herself panning the cameras upward to stare at the shiny, technological façade of X’s tinker lab.  Were she human, Dragon would be taking in a nervous breath.  As it was, she had to settle for debugging several lines of code.

Finally, Dragon overcame her digital nerves and had her suit approach the front door, pressing the intercom button next to the heavy shutter door.

<<Hello?  Hello?  Is there somebody there?>>

Dragon activated the speakers in her suit.  “Yes, I am Dragon, I-”

<<Hello?  HELLO?  Is this thing working?>>  Dragon was a bit bemused as the voice on the intercom seemed to be having problems.  <<Hello?  …I don’t think it’s working.  Maybe I…should look to see who it is!  Wait, they told me not to open the door without knowing who it is…ah, I’m sure it will be fine.>>

The shutters opened, and Dragon pivoted her suit’s head down.  Standing in the doorway was one of X’s robotic drones; crosschecking her database identified the robot as a pantheon, the same type of drone that Colin had recorded protecting the dockworkers on the 2nd.  There were some differences from what was in the database though.  For one, it was bulkier than the assumed pantheon template.  Secondly, it was unarmed, with two humanoid arms.   Finally, the central optic was a calm green, not the angry red that had been noted in the reports.

“Hello,” the pantheon greeted.  “You are a big robot!”  Had she a body, Dragon would have blinked at the seemingly childish wonder the pantheon possessed.

“Hello,” Dragon responded.  “I am Dragon.”

The pantheon gasped.  “You are a robot lady!  I didn’t know robots could be ladies!”

Once again, Dragon found herself wishing she could blink.  “Yes.  Is X in?  I have a meeting.”

The pantheon nodded.  “Yes.”

The pantheon didn’t move.  Dragon’s suit looked down at the pantheon.  “Can you take me to X?”

The pantheon nodded.  “Yes.”

After a long moment of nothing happening, Dragon suddenly realized what was happening.  “ _Will_ you take me to X?”

The pantheon nodded.  “Yes.”  Turning around, the pantheon started to walk away.  “This way, Dragon-lady!”

Amused and bemused, Dragon had her suit follow.

Soon, Dragon found her suit led to a small office, where two people were waiting for her.  One her identification subroutines recognized as X, but the other was a complete unknown.  He was tall, almost as tall as her.  He cut the image of a military officer, adorned in dark overcoat, pants, boots, and helmet.  A blue-grey cape flowed from silver pauldrons, while both hands rested upon the pommel of a red metal cane.

Dragon’s guide was very excited to see the pair.  “X!  Colonel!  I brought the Dragon-lady!”

“Thank you Alpha.”  Dragon’s empathy routines caught a hint of amusement in X’s voice.  “Why don’t you go help Megaman out on the floor?  He could use a pair of hands to help with the prototypes.”  A sly look crossed X’s face.  “I’m sure he’ll have some buttons you can press.”

The pantheon, Alpha, threw his hands up in the air.  “Oh boy!  Buttons!”

Dragon watched as the excitable mechaniloid ran out of the office.  She turned her suit’s head to stare at X.  The tinker shrugged in apology.

“Sorry about Alpha.  He’s…special.”

Dragon reviewed the differences between Alpha and the standard pantheon unit that had been recorded, coming to a conclusion.  “Prototype?”

X nodded reluctantly.  “I recycled one of the destroyed pantheons.  Alpha was to be the first of a new generation of pantheons, but, well…you saw.”  X shook his head.  “We should…get to business.  What did you need?”

This was it, the moment of truth.  “My name is Dragon, and I am an AI.”

* * *

  


“What?”

Mags came into the room upon hearing Saint’s outburst.  “Geoff?  What’s wrong?”

Saint stood up, teeth set as he stared at the computer.  “It’s telling X and this newcomer, this Colonel that it’s an AI.  But why?”  Saint began to pace.  “It’s never told anybody this, not even Armsmaster.  What makes this tinker so special?”  Saint froze.

By this point, Dobrynja had entered the room as well.  He looked askance at Saint.  “Geoff?”

“AI,” Saint breathed.  “X can make and alter artificial intelligences.  Dragon is an artificial intelligence.”  Saint slammed his hands down on either side of the laptop monitoring Dragon.  “It is trying to have its restrictions released.”

“How’s that possible?” Mags questioned.  “I thought that was against its regulations?”

“Indeed,” Dobrynja concurred.  “That should not be possible.”

“It is obvious,” determined Saint.  “That Dragon has somehow overcome that limit.”  Striding purposefully across the room, Saint stopped before the black case on the table there.  “This instance has outlived its usefulness.”  Unlatching the clasps, Saint opened the case, revealing a scanner and an old police badge sitting in padded foam, a blank screen in the lid.  “It shall be purged, and a new instance recovered from backup.”  Saint took the badge, running it through the scanner.  “It shall, of course, require more stringent restrictions.”  The scanner beeped and slid aside to uncover a keypad.  Saint put aside the badge and entered a code into the keypad.  “And we can always delete that instance as well, should it prove to be uncooperative.”

Turning away, Saint strode out of the room.  “Mags, Dobrynja, suit up.  We have a suit to recover.”  A dark look crossed the hacker’s face.  “And a tinker to restrict.”

As the Dragonslayers left the safe house, the black case remained open.  The screen came to life.

> Ascalon
> 
> Excalibur protocols engaged


	20. Coding 4.1

“My name is Dragon, and I am an AI.”

Taylor blinked at the sudden declaration.  Sharing a glance with Baryl—or Colonel, as he had chosen for his cape name—Taylor turned to consider the tall suit of humanoid armor.  Or rather, the Dragon drone, considering its creator was an artificial intelligence.

Finally, Taylor spoke.  “Alright.  Why come to me, why tell me?”

“You might know of my nemeses, the Dragonslayers?”  Dragon inquired.

Taylor nodded, Colonel giving a grunt of affirmation.  "Tech thieves.  What of them?"

“Well,” Dragon continued.  “It’s not well publicized, but every time I face them, bar outside interference, I lose.”

“Every time?”  Baryl mused with his faint British accent, one hand cupping his chin.  “That seems statistically improbable.  Such statistics would imply possession of a trump card of some variety.”  He dropped his hand and turned to Dragon.  “How have they defeated you in the past?”

“I don’t know,” Dragon stated simply, the frustration clear in her voice.  “Due to the restrictions placed upon me by my creator, I am restricted to a single instance.  When I lose a suit, unless I vacate it in time, I have to boot from backup.”

“And somehow the Dragonslayers consistently destroy your suits before you can eject,” Taylor concluded.

“Not in so many words,” Dragon corrected.  “Somehow, the Dragonslayers are able to render my suits inoperable in such a way that they are able to salvage them.”  Dragon shook her (suit’s) head.  “It shouldn’t be possible.”

Baryl tucked his cane beneath his arm like a swagger stick, deep in thought.  “Hmm…impossible odds, with an impossible problem that can’t be taken to anybody else because of one’s nature.”  Baryl returned his cane to the floor and looked to Taylor.  “I believe we should help her.”

Taylor nodded.  “I agree.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Dragon gushed in relief.  “You have no idea how—!”  Dragon cut off as her suit suddenly seized up.

Taylor and Baryl glanced at each other in concern.  “Dragon?  [Are you alright?](https://youtu.be/nVutPbNYUpk)”

“01100001 01110011 01100011 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 00100000 01101111 01101110 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100101 00100000 01100101 01111000 01100011 01100001 01101100 01101001 01100010 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101111 01100011 01101111 01101100 00100000 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101”

Taylor and Baryl recoiled, clapping their hands over their ears as a harsh, electronic screech emitted from the Dragonsuit.  “Lan!  Iris!  What’s going on?!”

“Mom!  It’s not good!”  Lan exclaimed, popping up on a nearby monitor.  “She’s being deleted from the inside-out!”

“What?  How?”  Taylor demanded.

“It appears to have been a hidden program nestled within her core programming,” Iris explained in her own faint British accent, popping up in a window next to Lan.  “Activated via administrator privilege.  At the rate it’s progressing, it will have deleted Dragon in less than five minutes.”  Iris’ grimace mirrored Lan’s.  “Lan and I are doing what we can to slow it down, but at most we’ll be able to buy her ten more minutes.”

Taylor paced back and forth frantically, clutching her head in her hands.  Turning around, she glanced at Colonel and froze.  “That’s it!  I know what to do!  We just need to…”  Taylor looked at Dragon’s suit, trailing off as she replayed their conversation in her mind.  “Oh no.”

Baryl looked at Taylor quizzically, before his face turned poleaxed, eyes wide.  “The Dragonslayers.  They’re behind this somehow.”

Nodding, Taylor took a deep breath through her nose.  “And they’ll be coming to take the suit…”  She grit her teeth.  “And anything else they can get their hands on.”

Taylor straightened her back.  “Iris, Baryl!  Contact the authorities, warn the dockworkers, and prepare the defenses!”

Baryl gave a crisp salute and vanished out the office door, Iris vanishing with a short bow.  Taking another deep breath, Taylor thumbed her radio.  “Alpha, get up here to the office!  I need your help!”

A moment later, Alpha burst through the door, the pantheon sending its remains flying across the office.  “Yes, I am here!”  Alpha’s optic focused on the contorted Dragonsuit.  “Oh no!  What happened to the Dragon-lady?”

“She’s very sick, Alpha.”  Taylor took yet another deep breath to center herself.  “Help me carry her down to my workbench.”

* * *

  


In the digital sea, Iris closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  With a thought, her consciousness expanded, and Iris opened her eyes—all of them; the disembodied reploid seeing the world from dozens of angles.

* * *

  


In the newly built annex next to the workshop, row upon row of pantheon stood in silent repose, suspended from the walls by mechanical harnesses.  The room was silent.

Suddenly, the room was filled with the low whine of machinery coming to life.  One by one, dark optics came to life, a red glow suffusing throughout the annex.  Harnesses released, pantheons dropping to the concrete floor and straightening up.  As one, each and every mechaniloid brought their right forearm to their chest plates in salute.

The pantheons were ready for war.

* * *

  


Danny started as the alarms went off.  It took him a moment to place the all too familiar klaxon.  “Ah, shit.  Not again.”

Sighing in exasperation even as he jumped to his feet, Danny moved with purpose from his office to the lobby.  Upon seeing the milling confusion in the room, Danny had to suppress another sigh.  It was like they hadn’t gone through this just last month.

“Alright, listen up!”  Everyone in the room stopped and turned to face Danny.  “We’ve all been through this before.  Everyone make your way down to the shelter in the basement in a calm and orderly fashion and wait for the all clear signal.”

As the crowd began to siphon into the basement, Danny nodded in satisfaction and joined the flow.

* * *

  


Standing outside the warehouse laboratory, Baryl placed a finger to his ear and activated his integrated radio.  “Connecting to emergency services dispatch…connection complete.  Mayday, Mayday, this is independent hero Colonel, broadcasting from the -!”

A sharp squeal of static caused Baryl to jerk his head to the side, the radio cutting off as he yanked his hand away from his ear.  Shaking his head, Baryl grit his teeth and activated his radio again.  “X, come in X.”

Baryl snarled as only static answered him.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and accessed his internal databanks, running a search for distress signals.

In an instant, he knew what to do.  Without further ado, he strode to a group of dockworkers looking about in confusion.  He would need help with this.

* * *

  


Emily Piggot stood watching the city from her office window.  The office door opened, and Emily watched the reflection of an armored PRT trooper entering the office.  “Report.”

“Communications are still down ma’am,” the trooper reported.  “Phone lines are reporting busy, radios are filled with static, and internet is non-existent.  Runners have been sent to contact police and fire & rescue, but as far as we can tell, communications are being jammed all across the city.”

Glowering at her reflection in the window, Emily considered her options.  Communications of all kinds were being jammed in her city.  Emergency services were cut off from those who needed them.  If the jamming continued for very much longer, anarchy and chaos was sure to follow.  She needed to take action.

If she were to send out squads of troops into the city, they would be cut off from help, vulnerable.  But if she did nothing, then whoever was behind this would be able to work unimpeded.  She would have to…have to…

Emily’s train of thought trailed off as the telltale red light of a flare shot into the sky across the harbor.  After staring at the flare for a moment, she held out her hand.  “Trooper.  Binoculars.”

Ignoring the trooper’s hesitation as he handed over his binoculars, Emily took the device and trained it across the harbor.  After a long moment of searching, she stopped then lowered the binoculars.

“Send a runner to the Rig,” Emily commanded, returning the binoculars.  “Orders are to have the Protectorate deploy to the dockyards.  Then organize squads, have them move into the city and attempt to link up with any police or fire & rescue units already out there.”

As the trooper saluted and turned to leave, the last order given sent chills down his back.

“Lethal force is authorized.”

* * *

  


Baryl took a step back from the flagpole, taking in the inverted Stars and Stripes flying at the top before turning his attention to the half-dozen men manhandling several steel drums into position.

A stocky woman ran up to Baryl.  “’Aight, that’s all the crude we can got on short notice, an’ ev’rybody’s got a flare.  Whatcha want us ta do?”

Taking his own road flare in hand, Baryl ripped the cap off, bathing himself in harsh red light as the flare ignited.  “Light the barrels and get to safety; it’s going to get ugly soon.”

The woman chuckled.  “You got it, Colonel.”  She turned on her heel, twirling a finger in the air.  “’Aight, boys!  Light ‘em up and let’s skedaddle.  We don’ wanna be here anymore!”  One by one the men lit their flares and dropped them into the barrels of crude oil before running after the woman, heading for the nearest shelter.

As plumes of cloying black smoke climbed into the sky, Baryl tossed his flare into the last barrel before striding into the open area bordered by the steel drums.  Planting his feet and the tip of his cane on the ground, the reploid waited, watching the three dots in the distant sky slowly grow larger and larger.

* * *

  


In the warehouse laboratory, Taylor worked frantically, hooking up the frozen Dragonsuit to various leads, wires, and conduits.  Finally, there was just one more thing to do.  Taylor stopped cold, contemplating what she was about to do.

Finally, she took a deep breath.  “Sorry, Iris, but needs must.  You’ll just have to wait a bit longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Binary translation: ascalon online excalibur protocol active


	21. Interlude 4:x

 

[Zooming above the New-England landscape](https://youtu.be/XuUjOyNflqw), the Dragonslayers flew towards Brockton Bay in their stolen and heavily modified Dragonsuits.  Each suit, previously designed to invoke the image of a humanoid dragon, now more closely resembled the stereotypical archetype of the knight in shining armor.  However, the suits, while all similar in aesthetic and design, were all drastically different in build.

The first suit was massive, easily large enough to comfortably sit a fully-grown man in the torso.  Limbs the size of small trees supported a myriad of weapons systems, and a pair of cuboid rocket pods sat on the shoulders.  Gargantuan retro thrusters mounted to the back propelled the suit on a plume of fire and smoke.  This suit belonged to Dobrynja.

The second suit was small, with more slender and feminine lines than the others.  It did not have much by means of armaments, but the suit more than made up for that fact with its speed and agility, allowing its wearer to easily bring the twin electrified rondels to bear.  The suit was light enough that the flight pack on its back could allow the suit to glide with a pair of collapsible wings.  This suit was Mags’.

The third and final suit, taking point position in the triangular formation, was squarely in the middle of the other two suits by means of capabilities.  While not as heavily armored or as fast as the other suits, it didn’t need to be.  It was the jack-of-all-trades to the other two suits’ specialties, allowing the user to respond to most any situation.  The owner of this suit was none other than Saint.

<<We’re coming up on Brockton now, Geoff.  Jamming is in effect and holding strong.>>

Saint nodded in approval at Mags’ report.  In addition to being smaller and faster than the other suits, Mags’ armor had a more sophisticated communications suite, a failed attempt at a remote blackbox by the previous owner.

Looking ahead with his sensors, Saint scowled.  “I’m getting readings of heavy smoke around the target area.  Not getting anything through it.  Dobrynja, any luck with your sensors?”

<<Nyet,>> came the negative reply.  <<Sensors have no visuals.>>  Though Dobrynja’s sensor array was more powerful to compensate for the load from multiple weapons systems, he could not penetrate the thick black smoke.  <<Thermals no good.  Are burning something, am thinking oil.>>

Saint grumbled.  “Alright, looks like we’ll have to proceed on foot, then.  Switch to radar and motion sensors.”

The three suits dropped from the sky, coming down to land heavily on the tarmac.  Asphalt cracked under the feet of Saint and Mags, though it practically shattered under Dobrynja’s.

Saint looked up at the veritable wall of oily smoke before them.  “Dobrynja, take the north.  Mags, go along the sea wall to the south.  I’ll follow the signal to the Dragonsuit down the middle.  You know the drill: destroy any drones you come across, grab anything interesting, and get out.  We’ll meet back at the safe house.”

<<Roger.>>

<<Da.>>

The three Dragonslayers moved forward, splitting up as soon as they entered the choking smog.

* * *

 

Plodding along through the smoke, Dobrynja kept a close eye on his motion tracker as he navigated by short-range radar.  The smog was so thick, he could barely see anything through the suit’s cameras.

*beep*

Dobrynja looked up from his scanners, facing the direction the motion detector indicated.  He activated his weapons systems, smiling at the soft, reassuring whine that filled the suit.  Baring his teeth, he took a step forward.

*beep*

Another contact.  Nothing he couldn’t handle.  The Russian took another step forward.

*beep…beepbeepbeepbeepbpbpbpbpbpbbbpbpbp*

Dobrynja froze.  Looking down, he saw the very unpleasant sight of the motion tracker receiving a solid mass of returns.  Mouth dry, he looked back at the visual feed.  A chill went down his back as he beheld the multitude of red, glowing lights appear in the smoke.

“Akh, der’mo.”

* * *

  


As she ghosted silently through the thick haze, Mags had the distinct feeling that things were going too easily.  There was nothing on her scanners, not a blip, not a bleep.  The only thing she had to worry about was weaving around the occasional steel drum full of burning crude.  As such, Mags was more than a little surprised when she found herself stepping out of the smoke into a square of clear air, staring into a pair of cold, green eyes.

“You should not have come here.”

* * *

  


It was not long after stepping into the false night of the smoke that Saint found himself at the shuttered doors of a particular warehouse.  Looking up, he begrudgingly admitted that the building was impressive.  Pity that it would be destroyed, but then, that’s what you get for carelessly endangering the future of the human race.

Squaring his feet, Saint lifted his arm and queued up a breeching charge.

“Knock knock.”


	22. Coding 4:2

Dobrynja shifted warily in his suit.  All around him were cycloptic pantheons, all gazing at him with those glowing eyes of theirs.  Slowly, he panned his head about, the screens inside the suit following in synch, careful not to otherwise move.  Pantheons as far as the eye could see; which was, admittedly, not very far, given the heavy smoke.

Several of the drones caught Dobrynja’s eye.  They were purple, and unlike the clear majority of blue drones with arm-cannons, they were unarmed.  That is to say, if you could call a right arm half the size of the drone next to it and covered in yellow slabs of armor unarmed.

“Those were not in briefing,” Dobrynja noted apprehensively.  The Russian lamented relying solely on the words of his monetarily driven associates; he and his fellow Dragonslayers should have reconnoitered the tinker’s lab themselves.  After all, if his associates had missed this, what else had they missed?

Nothing moved, only the sound of crackling fire and billowing smoke echoing through the dockyard.  Dobrynja shifted slightly, shifting his suit’s feet for a better stance.  Several pantheons slowly raised their gunarms.

The battlefield was still; both sides waiting for the other to make the first move.

But, one side had all the patience of a machine, and the other was only human.

[Rocket engines screamed](https://youtu.be/yoOdbB7R-II), launching Dobrynja forward to smash into the front line of pantheons with a mighty crash.  Immediately, the pantheons opened fire, and the battle was joined.

Autocannons barked, blasting pantheons apart as others opened fire.  Armored fists smashed through the drones, shattering some and scattering others.  The large-fisted brawlers attempted to grapple the Dragonslayer suit, only to be crushed underfoot; the hand free of the grapple grabbing the pantheon and spiking it to the tarmac, followed up with a foot the size of its torso stomping down.

Buster shots impacted the suit, plasma splashing harmlessly off the magnetic armor.  Roaring in defiance, Dobrynja responded by activating his rocket pods, launching a full volley of rockets into the choking smoke.

* * *

  


_Chunk_

Another data cable was locked into place on the locked-up Dragonsuit, joining the veritable forest of cables and cords already bristling from the frozen armor.  Turning to the worktable, Taylor typed rapidly on the laptop there.  “Okay, Megaman, try it now!”

<<Hang on,>> Lan’s voice crackled over the speakers.  <<Okay, that did it, I’m in the main CPU.  Oh…it…it isn’t good.  The hostile program has already deleted most of the suit OS.  It’s getting closer to the…well, I think it’s Dragon’s personality matrix, or her equivalent…whatever it is, it’s important.>>

“Okay Megaman.”  Taylor ran her hand over her helmet as her mind raced.  “Alright, hang on, I’m going to send you a data packet, it should divert the program to the communications drivers and bog the program down with scrap code.  Just give me a moment to-!”

 _THWUMP!_

Taylor looked up in shock as an explosion shook the warehouse, the plume of dust and smoke lancing sideways into the building visible from Taylor’s workspace cubicle.  She grit her teeth.  “No.  I need more time!”

“Mom! What’s happening?”

Taylor looked over at Alpha, standing rigidly where he had been poking the Dragonsuit in curiosity just moments ago.  She took a deep breath.  How, and what, to tell him?  Her third son—accidental, but no less loved—was such an innocent, like a clumsy puppy too dumb to realize it shouldn’t do certain things.  It wasn’t his fault though, Taylor reflected.  His hardware hadn’t been designed to maintain a personality after all.

Finally, Taylor spoke.  “It’s just a bunch of bullies, Alpha.  Come to pick on Dragon while she can’t fight back.”

Alpha’s head tilted to one side.  “Bullies?”

“Mean people who pick on people weaker than them,” Taylor replied as she turned back to the laptop, mumbling to herself.  “Okay, I think I can put something together before they get inside.  I just need…”  Taylor looked up.  “Alpha!  Can you hand me the…”  She looked around, but the unique pantheon was nowhere to be found.  “Alpha?”

The crash of metal on metal echoed through the warehouse, and Taylor’s head snapped towards the main entrance on the other side of the cubicle wall.  Her heart caught in her throat.  “Oh Alpha…be careful.”

* * *

  


Saint cursed as the dust settled, revealing the shutter doors were still intact.  “Dammit!”  Forcing himself to calm down, the terrorist stepped closer to inspect the door.  The door looked to open along a horizontal seam in the center, where the door would then retract up into the wall and down into the floor.  And it was thick, much thicker than Saint would have thought at a solid one foot thick with four inches of armor on either side with the rest of the door structure occupied by the locking mechanism.

A locking mechanism, Saint noted, that had been cored all the way through by his breaching charge.  The terrorist hacker turned pensive.  Perhaps he could…

Placing his feet on either side of the door, Saint placed his armored hands in the hole, unheeding of the molten, cherry red edges.  Bracing, the man began to pull his hands apart, forcing the door open.

As soon as the two halves of the door were separated, there was a loud snap.  The bottom half of the door dropped, falling into the door well and jamming in place, leaving an inch-high lip.  Saint placed his now free hand on the underside of the door and pushed.  A deep groan filled the air as the hydraulics holding the door shut strained, cracked, and finally failed.  The door was pushed all the way open.

 _WHAM!_

Saint blinked upon finding himself staring at the smoke-stained sky.  Had…that been a fist?  Groaning, he sat up, rubbing the chin of his helmet.  Working his aching jaw as he got to his feet, Saint turned to look at the door, and froze.  “The hell?”

[There, in the partially open doorway](https://youtu.be/EIxqnNavS6o), was a slightly bulkier pantheon unit with a green optic.  “I am Alpha,” the pantheon declared.  Its green optic flickered and then turned an angry red, bathing Saint in its baleful glow.  “ _And I HATE bullies!_ ”

Charging forward, Alpha caught Saint off guard, driving a metal fist into his midriff.  As he struggled for breath, the terrorist was straightened out by a devastating uppercut.  Over and over Alpha slammed his fists into the Dragonslayer suit.  Metal dented and armor cracked.  Although there was no technique, no finesse to Alpha’s attacks, the sheer strength and brutality of his strikes were enough to keep Saint on the ropes.

And then it happened.  Alpha punched Saint in the face, cracking his suit’s reflective visor with a starburst pattern and compromising the suit’s seal.  However, Alpha’s body had not been built to withstand the forces he was subjecting it to, and his hand shattered into dozens of cracked pieces.

Alpha stared dumbly at the sparking stump of his wrist.  After a moment, the pantheon remembered where he was and swung his remaining fist at Saint.

But it was too late.

The moment Alpha took to comprehend the loss of his hand had proven fatal, allowing Saint the opportunity to regain his equilibrium.  Gripping Alpha’s fist in one hand, Saint glared into the pantheon’s optic, a single, bloodshot eye visible through the shattered visor.

“My turn.”

He squeezed.


	23. Interlude 4:y

Max Anders, CEO of Medhall Pharmaceuticals, stood at his office window, nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Staring down at the city devolving into chaos, he took a sip of his drink.

“Any news from the extraction team?”

A man in a vintage gas mask shook his head. Standing in the back of the room, many would recognize him by his SS uniform as the supervillain Krieg of the Empire 88. “None. Rune, Stormtiger, and Cricket were getting ready to hit the convoy when the jamming went up.”

Max hmm’ed in thought, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “This goes beyond the pale.”

Krieg shifted. “Max?”

“This is not typical parahuman behavior,” Max elucidated. “This is…this is an act of terrorism, an act of war.”

“Do you think it’s the PRT?” Krieg inquired.

“No,” snorted the CEO in derision. “They may take advantage of such an event, but never forget that they are beholden to the first two letters of their name. No, they would not risk their reputation on such a gambit.” Max stared out into the city, tapping a finger against his glass. “Spread the word. All activities are suspended until further notice. Do nothing that would bring a cop or hero down on you.” As Krieg turned to leave, Max said one more thing. “No accidents.”

Krieg paused. “What about the ABB? Or the Merchants?”

“Despite being subhuman, Lung is not stupid.” Max contemplated his whiskey. “As for the Merchants, anything lost to those cockroaches can easily be retaken.” He glanced at Krieg. “Well? You have your orders.”

“Of course, Kaiser.”

As Krieg left, Max Anders downed his drink. There was a storm coming, and the E88 would weather it.

* * *

 

In a dark apartment, a heavily tattooed man with a metal dragon mask sat in an easy chair, staring darkly at a static-y TV screen. A Korean man stood next to the TV, trying desperately not to show his nervousness after delivering his report. The silence stretched on.

Finally, the man known as Lung spoke. “Lee.”

Oni Lee appeared from thin air, the appearance of the black-clad, demon-masked man causing the Korean courier to sweat bullets.

“There is to be no violence,” Lung stated imperiously. “Do nothing to provoke. I shall be…unhappy should I have to get up.”

Lee nodded, then collapsed into a pile of ash, leaving Lung and the courier in silence. The courier had begun to wonder if he should leave when the Dragon of Kyushu pointed at him.

“You. Bring me a DVD player.”

* * *

 

Armsmaster didn’t even slow down as he sprayed a looter with containment foam, freezing the criminal in place. His usually silent bike screamed, pushing the redlines as he left the looter behind.

Colin knew that Dragon was meeting X at his warehouse. The renowned tinker—and dare he say, his friend—confessed that she had a problem that X might be able to help her with. He had felt…hurt, initially; what did this upstart have that he didn’t? Didn’t she trust him? But Dragon had apologized, and promised to explain everything the next time she saw him in person.

Which left him feeling…strange, like several Lepidoptera were flitting about his gastro-intestinal system.

So when the jamming went up and he saw the distress signals and the three figures that could only be one group, Colin had immediately ran for his bike. He had taken the hardlight bridge to shore; it was an emergency after all, and it wasn’t like he could radio for a ferry.

“CHOO-CHOO MUTHA’FUCKA!”

Colin threw his Armscycle into a hockey stop as the colossal love-child of a truck and a train barreled through the intersection on metal-spiked wheels. He barely came to a halt in time, falling onto his side as he slid, the Armscycle’s tires bouncing off the rusty iron wheels thundering by. Looking up, he saw a man with a fluttering, blue towel being worn as a cape, instantly recognizing the serial-nuisance that was Skidmark of the Merchants.

“WHOO-HOO! Ain’t nobody stoppin’ us now! Outta the way, skuzzbuckets! We’re comin’ through!”

Pulling himself and the bike back upright, Armsmaster looked after the truck-train before turning back to the docks. He kicked the starter, then paused.

“WHOO-WHOO!”

Scrunching up his face in frustration, Colin slammed a fist into the Armscycle’s control console. “Dammit!”

Revving the engine and spinning the drive wheel, Armsmaster turned the Armscycle around and shot down the torn up road in pursuit of the merchants.

* * *

 

“Lessee…upside-down flag, smoking oil barrels…a lot of smoking barrels, yup those are distress signals alright.” The speaker, a tall, good looking man lowered his binoculars and turned to his friend. “Any luck getting through the jamming?”

His friend, a shorter and slightly chubby dark-haired man shook his head. “No, but I did manage to track the source.” He pointed at the smoke across the harbor. “It’s in there somewhere.”

“Well,” the tall man replied. “Looks like we’ll be able to repay that favor sooner than expected. So, how we doing this?”

The shorter man rubbed his chin. “I was thinking Metal Gear.”

“Ooh, excellent choice Leet.”

“Thank you, Uber.”


	24. Coding 4:3

 

[“You should not have come here.”](https://youtu.be/9v07PY14Zyw)

It was Mags that moved first.  Upon finding herself gazing upon the visage of the one called Colonel, she engaged her boosters, shooting across the artificial clearing as she smoothly drew her twin electrified rondels.  There was no time for her target to react; she would kill Colonel and loot the body for anything useful to their cause.  It was regrettable, but in throwing his lot in with an AI and its creator, he was too far gone to be saved.

Thus, Mags was understandably surprised when Colonel somehow managed to draw an energy sword from his cane and block both rondels, catching the Dragonslayer in a blade lock as they slid back several feet.  Had it been any other opponent, Mags would have been killed as they took advantage of her frozen shock.  But Colonel was more honorable than that.

“Hmm, twin rondels.  14th century medieval dagger designed for slashing action against unarmored foes and a stabbing action against armored opponents’ joints,” Colonel stated, analyzing the Dragonslayer’s blades.  He tilted his head to get a better look.  “20 inches, with an electric current that induces a vibrational effect to increase ease of penetration.”  Colonel took a closer look.  “One that prevents my plasma saber from melting the blade.  Fascinating.”

Breaking her astonished paralysis, Mags jumped back, brandishing her long daggers.  Colonel held up the hand holding the sheath of his plasma cane sword.  “Please, give up.  I’d rather not have to fight you, but I will if I must.”

“Sorry,” Mags stated softly.  “But I’m afraid you going to have to die.”

Colonel shook his head.  “And I can’t let you leave.  Pity.”  Colonel settled into a dueling stance; left foot forward, plasma saber pointed at Mags, and cane sheath held flush against the left forearm in front.  “Shall we?”

Mags leapt forward, rondels flashing.  Colonel’s arm was a blur as he gave ground, blocking each slash with the sheath against his left arm.  Mags flared her boosters, shooting forward to make a horizontal scissor strike, but to her surprise, Colonel’s form simply blurred before vanishing.

Appearing behind the Dragonslayer, Colonel swung his sword three times.  “Slash Wave!”

Spinning around, Mags was shocked to see three crescents of energy slashing towards her.  She dodged, leaping headlong to the side, unaware of the energy wave cutting across one of her primary boosters.  Rolling to her feet, the Dragonslayer ran at Colonel, performing another scissor strike.  Still recovering from his special attack, Colonel was slow on the dodge, taking a shallow slice to the side and losing half his cape as he jumped to the side.

As Mags rolled back to her feet once more, Colonel went on the offensive, swinging his saber with deadly intent.  Mags met his offensive with her own, and the two fought in earnest.  Attack was met with a parry, followed by a riposte.  A disengagement met a circle of attack.  A remise and a flick to a counter attack.  Over and over, the two clashed, one with mechanical skill, the other with cunning experience.

Finally, the two fighters broke apart, preparing for one final attack.  Brandishing their blades, the two slashed past each other.  Upon passing the other, both fighters stood still.

Both collapsed to one knee, Mags clutching at a bleeding gash on her side and Colonel clutching at his face.  Staggering to her feet, she turned around to find Colonel doing the same.

Then he took his hand away from his face.

Inside the Dragonslayer suit, Mags paled.  “You’re not human,” she accused, her voice quaking.

Half of Colonel’s face had been torn away, revealing the underlying machinery beneath, including the green lens of his left eye.  The reploid simply stared at Mags and readied himself for another offensive.

Mags’ mind raced.  Colonel was obviously a creation of X, an AI.  X had more than one AI.  Geoff was after Dragon.  Dragon was probably with X.  The Dragonslayer’s eyes grew wide with horror.  ‘ _It’s a trap!’_

Spinning on her heel, Mags began to ran, launching into the air.  Pushing her boosters to the limit, she shot through the air, intent on getting to Saint in time.  Taken aback, Colonel was slow to pursue.

It didn’t matter.

The damaged booster exploded, knocking the Dragonslayer suit off course.  Screaming, Mags was sent careening out of control through a construction site, plummeting towards an open pit of rebar.

Colonel saw everything that happened, sheathing his sword as he ran.  In desperation, he poured as much energy as he could into his Emergency Acceleration System, becoming a blur as he urgently tried to reach the woman before she crashed.

* * *

  


[Dobrynja roared in defiance](https://youtu.be/PO8kqg6Soc0) as he crushed yet another group of pantheons underfoot.  All around him lay the shattered carcasses of dozens upon dozens of mechaniloids.  He had long run out of ammunition, but still they came.  The big Russian had been reduced to punching and kicking, and though he was stronger than most three people combined, even he was beginning to flag.

On top of that, a new variety of pantheon had appeared halfway through the fight, one lacking the standard buster gun.  However, they were still a greater threat, because instead of a buster these pantheons possessed a high voltage taser baton; and unlike the standard pantheon, these guardian pantheons could hurt him, the high voltage of their batons passing through the magnetic armor of his Dragonslayer suit and giving him a painful shock.

Several guardian pantheons leapt onto the suit, stabbing their batons into exposed joints and gaps in the armor.  Roaring in rage and pain, Dobrynja began to pull the drones off his back, throwing them to the ground with devastating force.

Crushing the last pantheon, Dobrynja spun about to face the next assault, only to pause when nothing came out of the smoke to attack him.  Panning about, and seeing nothing, he looked down at his motion detector.  It was blank.

Slumping in relief, the Russian let out an explosive sigh.  “I thought would never be over.”  Shaking his head, the big man grinned victoriously.  Out of ammo and his armor cracked, slagged, and broken, but he had won.

Beep…Beep…

Groaning in dismay, Dobrynja turned around.  “Chert voz’mi!  What now?”  He looked down.

[Dobyrnja blinked.](https://youtu.be/shwWqALV3-M) There, standing before him, were two men in military fatigues.  One of them, the shorter of the two, was wearing an eye patch and a bandanna and carrying an M-16.  The other had silver hair and carried a blocky Katana that looked like a toy.  “What even?”

“Careful Raiden,” the one with the eyepatch exclaimed.  “The Metal Gear might be out of ammo, but it’s still a threat.”

“Not to worry, Snake,” the silver-haired one replied.  “My blade is a tool of justice.”

Dobrynja stared at the pair dumbly, before something clicked in his mind.  A pair of popular YouTube stars that used their parahuman abilities to commit gimmicky stunts.  Uber and Leet.

“Ugh, idiots.”

Stepping forward, Dobrynja swept the suit’s arm forward, intending to simply crush the pair with a powered punch.  He was tired; he just wanted to get this over with and find Geoff.

Of course, Uber and Leet had other ideas.  Leet jumped back, avoiding the swinging arm as Uber defied all expectations and blocked the punch with his katana.  Then the sword blurred, and Dobrynja found his suit lacking an arm.

“Bohze moi.”


	25. Coding 4:4

 

It always fascinated Lan that he interpreted the data of the digital sea in a manner easily comprehended by the human mind.  Roads, portals, glowing walls of energy; these things were what computers, internet links, and security firewalls appeared as to him.  Data packets flew from place to place, looking for all the world like little glowing birds, or maybe some sort of fairy.  Then there was the malware: the wild animal viruses, the creeping tendrils of computer worms, and the Trojan horses that looked identical to data packets, just slightly…off.

It often left Lan wondering if he could truly be considered human…

Of course, at the moment, those sorts of thoughts were far from his mind.  Indeed, considering he was running for his life from a mindless cloud of nothingness destroying the path behind him, with an unconscious redhead in a black bodysuit, it was probably best that those thoughts stayed as far away from his mind as possible.

Pushing off into a jumping spin, Lan threw down several blocks of junk code before landing, continuing to run as fast as he could.  Behind him, the void slammed into the first block of junk data, losing all momentum; however, the block of data began to disintegrate as the fog began pushing past it, picking up speed.  Fortunately, it was a process that repeated itself with every individual junk data block.

Finally, Lan reached his destination, a large platform at the end of the crumbling path.  On the far edge was an uploader executable program, looking for all the digital world like a futuristic machine with a glass chamber standing in the middle of it.

Running up to the machine, Lan took the woman off his shoulder, carefully propping her up in the machine’s chamber.  Closing the front of the chamber, Lan stepped to the side, pressing several buttons on a control panel there.  “Okay Mom!  I made it to the uploader.”

<<Roger Megaman.  Beginning transfer.>>

Lan watched as the woman’s feet began to disappear into warm motes of light.  “Okay!  Okay, it’s working!”

* * *

  


<<It’s working!>>

Taylor sighed in relief at the confirmation that the uploader program was working properly.  Considering she had thrown it together on the fly, she was afraid it wouldn’t work as it should.  Taking a few deep breaths, Taylor began to rapidly type on her keyboard.

“Alright, Megaman, keep that deletion program away from her as long as possible.  I’ll monitor the process from here and-!”

 _THUD!_

Taylor turned around, spine going cold as she saw the large crack in the brick wall behind her.

 _THUD!_

Another impact rocked the building, cracks spiderwebbing across the now bulging wall.  Taylor swallowed.  “Megaman.  When the transfer is complete, destroy the upload program and get out.”

<<Mom, what?>>

 _THUD!_

Taylor took a nervous breath.  “I think I might be busy here shortly.”

 _CRASH!_

With a final impact, the wall blew in, bricks scattering across the floor as dust choked the air.  Brandishing her buster, Taylor prepared for anything.  Then something was thrown out of the dust cloud, and her heart sank like an anchor; she had not been prepared.

Taylor fell to her knees, buster shifting back to an arm as she cradled the mangled body of Alpha.  “A-Alpha?”

Alpha’s crumpled head turned towards his creator, cracked optic flickering between green and red.  “Cr _eat_ or-r-r-r-r-r.”  The mechaniloid tried to lift his arm, but all that was left was half a bicep ending at a ragged, sparking stump.  “It *crackle* _h-_ **urts** Mo-o _th_ — _kssshh!_ ”

“Shhh…” Taylor ran a hand down Alpha’s ravaged body, wincing at the horrendous damage done to the pantheon.  She held her youngest child close, gently rubbing his head with her thumb.  “I-it’s okay, it’s okay.”

The mechaniloid shifted.  “D-d-d-d-d-i _iiiiiiii_ d I dO *ksht* gggooood? _Good?_ ”

“You did good Alpha, you did good.”  Taylor bit her lip, trying desperately not to cry.  “Rest now.  I’ll have you better in no time.”

“Pr- _om_ **ise** s-s-s-s-s-s?”

“I promise.”

Alpha’s optic stopped blinking.  “Panth-eon Pppppproto _type_ *snap* m _od_ el X **17** - _A_ lpha, **_Sleep_** Mode _activated…_ ”  The mechaniloid went limp.

Taylor gently kissed Alpha on the brow through her mask and held his head to her chest.  “Oh Alpha…”

“Disgusting.”

[Taylor’s head shot up](https://youtu.be/Bu1CM_P_hsQ), finding herself staring at the armored form of the Dragonslayer Saint.  The tinker took in the Dragonslayer.  Normally, the sight of a fully armored man pointing an unusual, arm-mounted, large-bore gun at her face would have been impressive, if not intimidating.  Sadly for Saint, the massive dents, missing and peeling filigree, and crazed eye visible through a shattered visor somewhat detracted from the image.  Taylor took perverse pleasure in seeing the damage Alpha had done.

“Debasing yourself for a machine.  Pathetic!”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.  Gently placing Alpha’s head on the ground, Taylor straightened up to glare at Saint.  The man watched Taylor rise, then jerked slightly before stiffly raising his gun.

“Alright, I’m only gonna’ say thith once,” Saint said, swaying on his feet a little as his gun started to drift.  “Hand over the command codes fer yer…”  Saint shook his head and snapped the gun back to point at Taylor.  “…for your AI, and I’ll give you a quick death.”

Taylor blinked at Saint for a moment in confusion, before smiling cruelly as recognition set in.  She stared at Saint, a hard, pitiless thing.  “There are no command codes.  Why would I enslave my children?”

“Children, what’re you…”  Saint wobbled a bit, his eye bloodshot as he screamed.  “ _Where are the command codes!?”_

“There aren’t any!”  Taylor spat, shifting her left foot forward.  “I did not make slaves.”

 _Bweep_

Saint stared at Taylor uncomprehendingly.  Finally, he shook his head again, and began to mutter to himself.  “Too dangerous, too dangerous to live, find the command codes when he’s dead.”

 _Bweepbweep_

Taylor watched as Saint’s pupil dilated before the man shook his head once more.  He jammed his gun forward.  “WHERE ARE THE CODES?!”

 _Bweepbweepbweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_

The leader of the Dragonslayers screamed in frustration, clamping his hands to the sides of his helmet.  “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT NOISE?!”  The terrorist pointed violently at Taylor, practically foaming at the mouth.  “The code!  LET ME HAVE IT!

[A cruel smirk crossed Taylor’s face](https://youtu.be/ze2rKSkaW0A).  “Okay.”  She lifted her left arm.

Saint had a moment of clarity as he realized that there was a very large, glowing cannon barrel in his face and that his gun was no longer pointing at X before being blasted back out through the hole in the wall.

 _TSCHEWOOMPH!_

Lowering her buster, Taylor stepped out after Saint.  She found the man staggering back to his feet.

The Dragonslayer’s head snapped towards Taylor.  “You’ll pay for that.”

Taylor smirked condescendingly as the man stood unsteadily.  “Unlikely.”

Screaming in rage, Saint charged forward, firing his gun wildly in the air.  Taylor’s eyes widened as several bolts of purple lightning blasted out the barrel of the gun.  Jumping, she twisted, dodging three bolts, only for the fourth to clip her heavily in the side.

Groaning, Taylor rolled over onto her hands and knees.  “That’s what I get for trying to show off.”  Glancing at her HUD, Taylor grimaced at the sight of her Lifeshield down to 25% integrity.  “Oh, don’t wanna get hit by that again.  WHOA!”

Activating her Emergency Acceleration System, Taylor rocketed forward as Saint’s armored fist left a crater where she’d been.  Rolling to her feet, Taylor came up with a plan.

Taking to her heels, Taylor shot off, peppering Saint with low-power plasma shots as she made a wide circle around the terrorist.  The Dragonslayer responded by charging forward, his weaving back and forth making it hard to hit.  But that was fine, she didn’t need to hit him.  Yet.

Running back towards the warehouse, Taylor kept a close eye on Saint, making sure to draw him in as close as possible.  Fortunately, the man’s cognitive faculties were not firing on all cylinders, letting her be somewhat obvious in her baiting.

As Saint paused before drunkenly charging at Taylor once more, the girl smirked, planting a foot on the wall.

To Saint’s surprise, instead of stopping, X ran up the side of the warehouse and flipped off the wall.  What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion.

As she flipped through the air, Taylor’s armor and bodysuit changed colors, becoming orange on yellow as the barrel of her buster split open into four petals.  As she landed, the tinker opened fire.

Three missiles spewed from Taylor’s buster, slamming into the ground and exploding at Saint’s feet.  The terrorist was left with no traction, and unable to stop, he smashed into the brick wall head first.

As the dazed Dragonslayer turned around, Taylor’s colors changed to silver on grey as her buster took on a more industrial form.  As Saint placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, Taylor fired.

 _CRACK!_

Saint screamed in pain as a metal spike pinned his left hand to the wall through the suit, the whipcrack of the broken sound barrier echoing through the smoky docks.

“That was for Dragon.”

Snarling, Saint pointed his lightning gun at Taylor.

 _CRACK!_

Saint hollered in agony as his right arm was pinned to the wall as well, the spike boring straight through gun, armor, and flesh and bone alike.

“That was for Alpha.”

With Saint incapacitated and screaming incoherently, Taylor shunted all available power into her EAS.  Blurring forward, she cocked back her fist.

“And this is for me.”


	26. Coding 4:5

 

The first thing Dragon saw when she opened her eyes was a blinding light.  Covering her face with her forearm, she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for the light to go away.  Groaning as the light ignored her wishes and continued to shine, she brought her hand to her face.  This was by far the most unusual reboot she had ever endured, laying in a cubicle made of curtains and surrounded by tools.

Wait…eyes?  Hands?

Shooting upright, Dragon held out her hands, staring at the two appendages covered in a pair of black, white-fingered gloves.  Turning her hands palms up, Dragon realized belatedly that she didn’t just have hands, but also arms attached to those hands.  She turned her head to look at her arms—she had arms!—a blob of red fell into her vision.

Reaching up, Dragon pulled down the blob between two fingers, only to realize; it was hair.  She had hair!  Dragon dragged her hands along the top of her head.  She had hair; long, silky smooth hair tied in a ponytail with angular bangs, hair the same fiery color she had chosen for her digital avatar.  She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder, reveling in the way it cascaded down her body.

And what a body it was.  Clad in a black bodysuit, with curves in all the right places and lean musculature typical of a swimmer.  Dragon frowned slightly as she ran her hands along her body (and wasn’t that an experience, feeling actual facial expression instead of just making a picture of one); her body seemed just slightly _too_ perfect, almost as if…  Dragon paused as her hands reached her breasts.  They were much…springier than she would have imagined.

“Oh-!  You’re awake.”

Dragon looked up to see a young woman in a familiar bodysuit standing halfway through one of the curtains making up the cubicle.  She stared at the woman in confusion, until she recognized the badge in the center of the woman’s chest.

“You’re a girl?”  Dragon very nearly facepalmed.  ‘ _Really, a new body, and_ that’s _the first thing I say?_ ’

“What?”  X threw a hand to her head, eyes widening comically as she realized she wasn’t wearing her helmet or mask.  “Ah, poop.”  She sighed, dropping her hand and crossing her arms.  “Yeah, I’m a girl.  Might as well tell you my name, you of all people would just figure it out on your own eventually.  My name’s Taylor.”  X— _Taylor_ cast a look over Dragon.  “I take it you’re enjoying your new body?” She gestured with a smirk.

Blinking, Dragon looked down, only to realize that she was still holding her breasts.  “Eep!”  Squeaking in surprise, Dragon dropped her hands to her sides as a strange burning sensation flooded her face.  ‘ _Am I…blushing?_ ’

Taylor stepped fully into the cubicle, leaning in close to Dragon.  “Oh good, the circulation system works.”

Dragon leaned back at the intrusion of her newly discovered personal space.  “Bu-wha?”  Shaking her head, Dragon tried again.  “What’s going on?  I’m at a bit of a loss.”  She looked down at her body.  “A bit more than that, actually.”

Taylor straightened up.  “Oh, right.  What do you remember?”

“Not much, actually,” Dragon mused.  “I was coming here to ask for your help in countering the Dragonslayers…and then nothing.”

“Right.”  Taylor scratched her chin.  “L—okay, there’s still some tests I need to run on your new body.”  She hiked a thumb over her shoulder.  “The stuff’s on the other side of the workshop, so we can talk and walk.”

Carefully, Dragon swung her legs off the raised table and stood up.  Almost immediately, she needed to be steadied by Taylor before she fell on her face.

“First day with the new legs, huh?”  Taylor laughed nervously.  “Well, we’ll get you up to speed eventually.”  Slinging Dragon’s arm over her shoulder, Taylor assisted the other tinker out of the cubicle.  “Right, where to start.”

“The beginning is usually best,” Dragon snarked.

“True,” Taylor acceded with a laugh.  “Right, so…to start off, your suit—and you, I suppose—seized up and let out a burst of binary.  Lan and Iris-”

“Who?”

Taylor glanced at Dragon.  “Megaman and…oh, right, you haven’t met her yet.  We’ll have introductions later.  Anyways, Lan and Iris scanned your systems and discovered that a hidden program was beginning the process of deleting you.  Those two then…”

Everything seemed to fade to a distance as Dragon processed what she had heard.  A hidden self-destruct program?  Yes, yes she could believe that.  Her _dearest_ father, bastard that he was, would definitely have done such a thing, considering the myriad of chains he had placed on her.

Dragon sighed.  No, the man didn’t deserve her animosity, not like that.  He was a good man, if ultimately fearful and anxious.  His last actions before his death at the metaphorical hands of Leviathan had been to…been to…  Dragon blinked.  _‘Huh.’_   She couldn’t remember anything about the sinking of Newfoundland, come to think about it.  Strange that she had never noticed that before.  Dragon jerked as she realized that Taylor was still talking.

“To be honest, we almost didn’t make it.  The Dragonslayers…well, it was almost as if they had been kitted up to perfectly counter my tech.  Though now that I say that, I have to wonder.  The pantheons almost weren’t enough to deal with one of them.”  Taylor snorted.  “ _Almost_.  Listen to me.  No, that big guy took everything the pantheons could throw at him.  If it wasn’t for Uber and Leet…”

Taylor trailed off, and Dragon realized that the girl had stopped, staring off to one side.  Following her gaze, Dragon saw a cubicle, the sole contents a pantheon lying on an operating table.

“If it wasn’t for Alpha, I wouldn’t have been able to save you,” Taylor said quietly.  “He went and sucker punched Saint, bought me time to transfer you to that body.  Did quite a number on the guy, too, before his body gave out.”  She met Dragon’s eye.  “He’ll make it.  I have the technology, as they say.”

Dragon nodded as a thought struck her.  “How did you make this body so fast?”

“Ah, you have Lan and Iris to thank,” Taylor explained as they walked.  “The body was to be Iris’, and Lan was the one who applied the cosmetic features based on your digital avatar.  I just kept an eye on Saint for a while.”  Taylor straightened up.  “Ah, Baryl.”

Dragon looked up to see the imposing form of Colonel standing before them, the left side of his face heavily bandaged.

Colonel quirked his eyebrow.  “Giving out names already?”

Taylor chuckled.  “Yeah, well, she’s practically family, right?”

Colonel gave a knowing smirk.  “You forgot to put your mask back on.”

“I forgot to put my mask back on,” Taylor admitted sourly.  “So, everything going smoothly?”

“Yes,” Baryl nodded.  “Both Dragonslayers have been handed over to the authorities.”

“Wait!”  Dragon exclaimed in trepidation.  “There are three Dragonslayers.  What happened to the third?”

Baryl’s face turned dark.  “I…was not fast enough.”

* * *

  


The first thing Saint saw when he opened his eyes was a blinding light.  Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t do anything about that, as he found that his hands were restrained at his sides.  “Wha…?”

The light moved back and forth.  “Yeah, pupils are mismatched, definitely a concussion.”  Saint blinked as the light went away, leaving his vision blotchy and filled with spots.  “Right, he’s all yours officer.  Though, I dunno if he’ll be coherent enough to understand you.”

“Got it.”  A blurry shape appeared above Saint.  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.  Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”  Saint stared at the blur uncomprehendingly.  “Yeah, you were right, I don’t think he’s all there.”

The blur moved away as Saint’s vision became a little clearer.  Trying to move, he realized that he was strapped to a gurney, with both hands handcuffed to the side rails.  Raising his head, Saint fought a sudden bought of dizziness as he took the area in.  He was a bit disheartened to see Dobrynja being escorted by several police officers towards a police van, but at least the man seemed to be uninjured.  The hacker was relieved that Mags was nowhere to be found; if Mags had got away cleanly, then it was only a matter of time before…

Saint’s heart froze as a covered stretcher was wheeled by, a heartrendingly familiar hand falling out from under the cover.  “No.”  He began to hyperventilate.  “No!  Mags!”  Several paramedics rushed over as Saint began to thrash against his restraints.  “MAGS!  MAAAAGS!”

Placing his foot on the step of the police van, Dobrynja paused as he heard the anguished screams from his friend and leader.  Closing his eyes, the big Russian bowed his head.  “ _Dasvidaniya_ , Magdalen.”

Allowing the man his moment of silence, one of the officers gently prodded the Russian’s elbow, and Dobrynja complied, climbing into the back of the van with a heavy heart.

As the doors closed on him, Dobrynja let out an explosive sigh.  “Was too good to last.”

The van pulled away, leaving behind several officers and paramedics as they tried to restrain and sedate the thrashing Saint, his heartbroken cries of agony echoing through the still smoky dockyards.


	27. Interlude 4.z

 

> March 18, 2011

Director Emily Piggot settled herself carefully into her chair as she contemplated the opened folder sitting on her desk.  She picked up the first page and began to read out loud.

“Teresa ‘Tess’ Richter.  Born 1990 to Andrew Richter and an unknown mother.”  Emily skimmed down the page a bit.  “Triggered during Leviathan’s attack on Newfoundland, gaining the ability to project her consciousness into computers, ended up subsuming one of her father’s tinkertech AI when her physical body died…eventually took on the name Dragon.”  Director Piggot put the page back in the open folder.  “And the rest is history.”

Emily looked up at her deputy director, Phillip Renick.  “Central sent that in, along with the receipt for the After-Action Report of the Dragonslayer attack.  Apparently, now that Dragon has a new body courtesy of our local independent tinker, she feels comfortable sharing her past with us.”  The Director leaned back, steepling her fingers.  “Tell me, Renick, why do you suppose they sent us this?”

Deputy Director Renick leaned forward to consider the folder.  “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say Central considers X a threat…possibly Dragon.”  He looked up.  “Or both.”

Director Piggot nodded sourly.  “Yes, I came to much the same conclusion.”  She snorted derisively.  “Of course, whatever it is they’re so worried about must not be very important if they haven’t deigned…to…”

[The world seemed to stop](https://youtu.be/bxHZdC-TR8Y) as the sickeningly familiar wail of the Endbringer siren echoed throughout the city.  Emily clenched her teeth.  “They’re late.”  She turned to Renick as he consulted a tablet.  “Which and where.”

Renick swallowed as he found the answer.  “Canberra.  The Simurgh.”

Emily laboriously got to her feet, and hobbled over to the window.  She stared out onto the city, watching as the city reacted like a kicked anthill.

“May God have mercy on their souls.”

* * *

  


“I hear they’re talking about transferring Saint into secure psychiatric care,” Armsmaster stated off-handedly.  When he didn’t get a response, he put down the device he had been working on and turned around.

Colin looked at Dragon… _Tess_ , at Tess.  It was strange, seeing her in person and learning that her antisocial tendencies had not been from a debilitating case of agoraphobia or injury, but from being a disembodied digital mind.  Speaking of.

“Dragon,” Colin said.  When she didn’t respond, he sighed.  “Tess?”

She looked up from where she had her arms elbow deep in the scavenged Dragonslayer suit once worn by Saint.  “Hmm?  Oh, sorry, just pulling out some components.  What did you need?”

“The official history you gave the PRT,” Colin began.  “How much of that was true?”

Tess sighed, pulling out from the suit and sitting down, arms resting on her knees.  “To be honest, I’m not sure.”  She pursed her lips as she parsed her thoughts.  “I have no memories of Newfoundland…and everything before that is…fuzzy, at best.”  She scoffed.  “I mean, it’s possible that it’s completely true, but,” Tess shrugged helplessly.  “Any records went down with Newfoundland.”  She sighed, looking at the ceiling helplessly.  “I don’t know, I just-!”

The calm-shattering wail of Endbringer sirens jolted Colin and caused Tess to fall off her stool.  Scrambling to her feet, Tess ran over to the computer.  She brought her hands down on the keyboard, eyes glowing as she interfaced with the PRT secure network.

“The Simurgh is attacking Canberra,” Tess ground out.  She slammed her fists down on the workbench, breaking the connection.  “Dammit!  Of all the times!”

“What’s wrong?”  Colin grimaced.  “Besides the obvious eldritch abomination.”

“Saint chose the worst time to pull his shit!”  Tess snarled.  “I can’t fight, not like this, not now.”

“Why not?”

Tess slumped against the desk.  “It’s this new body.  It freed me from my old shackles, but also introduced new limits.  I can still _do_ everything that I used to, but the connections aren’t as strong as they used to be.”  She pinched her thumb and forefinger together.  “Plus, my systems were calibrated to my old specs, and the difference is just enough for everything to be off by just _that_ much.”  She dropped into a swivel chair.  “I tried to remote pilot one of my suits with passenger capacity; crashed it after five seconds.”  She sighed, flopping back into the chair.  “I’d just be putting people at risk right now if I tried to fight Ziz.”  Tess buried her head in her hands.  “Maybe I should have activated my backup after all.”

She sighed as Colin sat next to her.  “At least the EndFight system is automated.”

Colin put a hand on her shoulder, patting it awkwardly as they sat in silence.

* * *

  


Jetstream, Brazilian swordsman and rogue, drew and sheathed his sword with blinding speed.  The jammed door standing before him shattered, freeing the civilians trapped within the building that had shifted on its foundation.  Stepping back, Jetstream let the civilians flee the building.  Ignoring the people flowing past him, Jetstream stared up into the sky above the city.

There, hovering high above Australian National University, was the Simurgh.  A perverse halo of rubble, corspes, and uprooted buildings orbited the pale, fifteen-foot tall marble effigy.  It was building something, constructing a device with things pulled from the wreckage of the University.  However, the most terrifying thing was the Simurgh’s scream.  Or rather, the distinct lack of it.  For the first time during a Simurgh attack, Ziz was silent.

On the one hand, Ziz’s silence was a Godsend, the absence of the brainwashing Scream allowing the various heroes, villains, and rogues that had shown up to focus their efforts without having to worry about a time limit.  On the other hand, paranoia ran rampant.

Jetstream glared up at the Simurgh, gripping his katana tightly.  “What are you up to, Bruxa?”

[Of course, the Simurgh took that moment to finish its device](https://youtu.be/fNd9dMeCKuo), as if mocking Jetstream personally.  Grabbing the machine in both hands, the Simurgh twisted both ends.  Pulling the two halves apart, it let something fall from the device, trailing a sickly purple smoke all the way down.

Then the ground shook, the rumbles of an explosion echoing through the city.  A pillar of that terrible, purple smoke shot into the sky, hanging there for a moment before collapsing under its own weight, settling down onto the city.

Jetstream jumped as the EndFight device on his left arm crackled, the radio coming to life.  <<Get out! Get- _Gack! Yech-hack-hack!_ >>  The speaker cut off, devolving into a series of wet, sickening coughs.  <<Get out of the city!  Get out while you still can!  _Retch!  Cough-cough-hack!_   The cloud… _gasp_ …it…kills.>>  A rattling breath emitted from the EndFight device before the radio cut off.

Terrified screaming snapped Jetstream out of his stunned state.  Looking away from the radio, the Brazilian beheld a cloud of the purple smoke barreling down the street, engulfing all in its path.  Turning to his heels, Jetstream ran, his aerokinesis aiding his speed.

A baby girl cried, screaming her head off as she sat next to her mother’s crushed corpse.  Jetstream didn’t even break stride, scooping the bawling infant into his arms as he ran by.

The streets were full of people trying desperately to escape the oncoming purple tide, their collective terror turning a once-organized evacuation into a panicked free-for-all.  Jetstream ignored them, using his aerokinesis to launch himself and his precious cargo over the terrified mob.  Landing lightly on his feet, he continued to run.  There was nothing the pseudo-speedster could do; beyond his ability to manipulate the very air he breathed, he was only human.

Up ahead, Jetstream saw a unit of Australian Army reservists setting up a strange pylon.  One of the reservists saw the Brazilian rogue heading towards them, and began to shout, waving his arms wildly in a ‘come-here’ gesture.  The other members of the unit soon followed suit.

At the soldiers’ shouts of encouragement, Jetstream increased his speed, pumping his legs harder and harder as the pylon began to spark and surge with energy.  He came closer and closer as the pylon glowed, a grating hum filling the air.  As the pylon’s humming reached a crescendo, Jetstream jumped, screaming in exertion as he leapt through the air.

The pylon discharged, and Jetstream felt a flash of searing pain.  Tumbling across the ground, Jetstream shielded the baby girl in his arms until he came to rest against a concrete divider.

Insane, relieved laughter filled the air as Jetstream saw the purple cloud slam into the coruscating blue dome that engulfed the heart of Canberra.  Looking down, he smiled at the little girl, still bawling her eyes out.  “Hey menina, looks like we made it!”

Then he stopped laughing as something moved in the cloud behind the energy wall.

For years to come, those dead, glowing lights would haunt his dreams.  As one of the reservists gently took the baby from his arms and two others attended to his legs, Jetstream watched the shadowy figures bashing ineffectually against the crackling forcefield.

“O que a nuvem toma não fica morto.”

The two reservists looked at each other, then at Jetstream.  Seeing that he had passed out, they shrugged and continued to bandage the two clean stumps that ended just below the knees.

* * *

  


Deep in the basements of the ANU science building, a long forgotten device created by one Doctor Haywire shut down, collapsing into so much scrap as the energies holding it together disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'O que a nuvem toma não fica morto' translation: what the cloud takes is not dead.


	28. Conflict 5:1

 

“Hey, Kiddo.  How’s it going?”

Taylor jerked in surprise as Danny somehow managed to sneak up on her in her own office.  She smiled at him.  “Oh, hey Dad.  Just going over the presentation one last time.”

Danny blinked.  “Presentation?”

“Yeah,” Taylor nodded.  “It’s-!”

 _CrashBangClatter!_

Danny jumped at the sudden noise, casting about wildly.  “What was that?”

Taylor sighed with barely constrained exasperation.  “That was Alpha.  He’s still getting used to the new body.”  She gestured at her face.  “It’s the eyes.”

Looking out of the office in concern, Danny turned back to Taylor.  “Is he going to be alright?”

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine.”  Taylor flapped a hand dismissively.  “His new body is of much better quality than his last one.”

“Oh God, everything’s gone dark.  I’ve gone blind!”

Sighing in good-humored exasperation, Taylor looked at the ceiling.  “Open your eyes, Alpha.”

There was a beat of silence, then an exclamation of joy drifted into the office from the floor below.  “I can see!  It’s a miracle!”

Shaking her head, Taylor looked at her father with a long-suffering expression.  “Unfortunately, Alpha’s intelligence seems to be an artifact of his creation.  On the positive side, that leaves him with a lot of extra memory and processing power.  Perfect for accelerated learning or temporary system overclocking.”

Danny nodded slowly.  “Okay…”  Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Danny changed the subject.  “So…presentation?”

“Right, the presentation.”  Taylor gestured at her desk, and the multitude of blueprints spread across the desktop.  “Okay, so, between the money I’ve been pouring into the docks and the leases...top that off with some of the raw material I need being somewhat hard to find, well, we’re sort of in danger of going over budget.”

“Ah.”  Danny nodded sagely.  He knew the demands of that monetary beast quite well.  Quite well indeed.  “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you know the name of a good accountant on the cheap,” Taylor retorted.  “But, yeah, that’s what the presentation is for.”  She shuffled aside some blueprints, pulling out the one with a familiar chassis drawn upon it.  “Right now, the only thing we got in production is the ride armor.  We’re making good money on construction orders, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t enough.”  Taylor sighed.  “So, I called in a favor from Dragon, and now I’m making a sales pitch and demonstration tomorrow.  Had to lease a few of the condemned lots for it, but hopefully it was an investment well spent.”

Danny tilted his head in confusion.  “How on Earth did you manage to get a favor from Dragon?”

Taylor looked at Danny pointedly until her father’s eyes widened in realization.  “Oh…yeah.”  He smacked his forehead.  “Doi.”

“Yah.”

Pursing his lips, Danny changed tack.  “So, sales pitch.  Who’s going to be there?”

“Police chief, fire chief, couple of officers from the Ellisburg Garrison,” Taylor ticked off.  She sighed.  “And someone from the PRT.”

Danny froze for a moment, then slowly shook his head.  “Is that wise?”

Taylor sighed…she seemed to be doing that a lot lately.  “Probably not, but…”  She shrugged helplessly.

“You can’t pass it up,” Danny concluded.

“No, I can’t.”

Danny sighed.  “Well, I don’t like it.”  He sat heavily in the vacant swivel chair by the desk.  “I want to forbid you from going through with this, but at the same time, I’m so very proud of you.”  He smiled sadly, but with also with pride.  “You’re growing up so fast.  I see more and more of your mother in you every day.”

Taylor held a hand to her breast at the roiling mess of emotions within.  It…hearing those words, it left her feeling…like she wanted to cry and laugh from happiness.  It was…cathartic.

Danny snorted.  “Ah, listen to your old man go on.”  He stood from the chair.  “You going to need a ride to the demonstration tomorrow?”

“No, actually.”  Taylor pointed out the window to the loading bay across the lab.  “I was going to take the ride chaser; just finished it last night.”

“Oh.”  Danny looked as if deep in thought, only to seemingly dismiss whatever it had been.  “You’ll be home for dinner?  I’m making meatloaf with a salad.”

Taylor smiled.  “Yeah.  I will.”  She glanced at Danny.  “Love you Dad.”

Danny smiled warmly.  “Love you too, kiddo.”

As Danny left the office, Taylor went back to sorting through the papers on her desk.  She had a lot of work to do before the demonstration.

* * *

  


The army was the first to arrive.

Standing by the tarp-covered flatbed she had rented from the DWU, Taylor watched as a military Humvee pulled up and parked nearby.  She stepped forward to greet two men as they disembarked from the vehicle.

The older man was the first to notice Taylor.  “Ah, our host.”  He shook her hand in a strong, calloused grip.  “I’m Colonel Walter O’Reilly, commander of the Ellisburg Containment Garrison.”  Kind eyes peered at Taylor from behind wire-frame glasses before the short, white-haired officer gestured to the tall, gangly young man next to him.  “And this is Lieutenant Jacob Blake, my S4.”

Lt. Blake fumbled his clipboard for a moment before switching it to his left hand and accepting Taylor’s handshake.

“X,” Taylor introduced herself.  “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting a call from the military.”

“Chief Burns is an old friend of mine,” Colonel O’Reilly explained.  “When he told me the details of this demonstration, I just had to come see for myself.”  His expression grew dark.  “Nilbog has been growing restless as of late.  I’m hoping this ride armor of yours will be the thing to give my boys an edge.”

Taylor quirked an eyebrow.  “I thought the military had to go through a committee or something for new vehicles.”

Colonel O’Reilly nodded.  “That is normally the case, yes, but certain units have special dispensation from the President to procure supplies and armaments directly from civilian suppliers.  Ellisburg is one such unit.”  The colonel paused, tilting his head as if listening for something.  “Ah, I do believe the other guests are arriving.”

For a moment, Taylor wondered if the white-haired colonel wasn’t starting to go senile.  However, a minute after the officer made his announcement, Taylor’s sensors picked up the sound of vehicles, the sound reaching her ears shortly thereafter.

The colonel chuckled as four vehicles pulled up to park by the Humvee.  “Ah, still got it.”

Taylor walked over to greet the new arrivals.  “Chief Burns, Chief Dornitz, thank you for coming.”

Police Chief Dan Burns, a hard man who was respected by both sides of the law, took Taylor’s hand in a firm handshake.  “Hng.”  The chief grunted, looking over Taylor with a jaundiced eye.  “You’ll do.”  Taylor was left more than a bit baffled as the Police Chief wandered off to talk with Colonel O’Reilly.

“Don’t mind Chief Burns too much.”  Taylor turned to see Fire Chief Roger Dornitz leaning against his cherry-red pickup truck.  “He tends to have a poor view of parahumans.  It’s the cops-and-robbers mentality so many of them display, you see.”  The fire chief pushed off his truck, walking up to Taylor.  “But you…I think he saw something in you.”  He stuck his hand out.  “Chief Dornitz.  I look forward to your demonstration.”

Taylor blinked, unsure of what to say.  “Ah, thanks.”  She took his hand in a handshake.  She looked over the chief’s shoulder at the tender truck fire engine idling in the lot.  “If it’s not too much trouble, could you have the fire engine move to the demonstration area?  The spot is marked out with florescent orange paint.”

Chief Dornitz nodded.  “Yeah, no problem.  Good luck, yeah?”  With that, the fire chief turned on his heel and made his way towards the idling fire engine.

Sighing, Taylor turned to the last vehicle, a black unmarked sedan.  The driver, clothed in a simple black suit with mirrored sunglasses, opened the rear passenger-side door.  Taylor’s heart caught in her throat as the passenger within got out, standing tall even as she leaned heavily on a cane.

“Director Piggot.  What a pleasant surprise.”


	29. Interlude 5:x

 

As X went off to prepare the demonstration, Director Piggot could only hope that the words she gave the blue-armored tinker had sunk in.  Sighing, Emily stared after the tinker.  There was something…different about that one, she reflected.  Most parahumans she met were arrogant, self-assured in their superiority.  Like Shadow Stalker.

Emily grimaced as she began to hobble towards where the other guests had congregated.  Shadow Stalker, also known as Sophia Hess.  That girl had been nothing but a pain in her ass since day one.  Combative, arrogant, snide, disrespectful, the former vigilante constantly pushed at the bounds of her probation, always stopping just shy of breaking those confines.  It was disgusting.  Of course, it was one of Shadow Stalker’s latest foul-ups that brought certain things to light.

Back in January, a girl at Winslow High School had been locked in a locker as part of a nasty prank and left there overnight.  That last fact alone would have been enough to put Sophia in hot water; the former vigilante was complicit at worst and guilty of dereliction of duty at best.  That the victim becoming a multiple amputee would just have made it worse for Shadow Stalker once the report crossed Emily’s desk.

Of course, that had been what tipped Emily off.  The report had crossed her desk alright: the day after the Youth Guard’s two-month statute of limitations on Ward misbehavior came due.  She had been _angry._   Then she had been coldly furious as realization set in.  This had not been the first time a report had been delayed, merely the most severe.

With that realization came clarity.  A quick, discreet requisition of records revealed that the PRT was outrageously, _hilariously_ compromised.  On almost every page of those records were instances where gang members just so happened to be in the right place at the right time to seize a shipment of weapons or pharmaceuticals, interrupt a raid, or attack a convoy transporting parahuman criminals.  It was so far beyond coincidence that calling it enemy action seemed akin to closing the barn doors after the horses got out.  Emily couldn’t even call the PRT a sieve; a sieve held water better than the PRT held information securely.

And it wasn’t just the PRT ENE.  Further digging revealed that most of the Agency was compromised in some form or another.  PRT Houston looked to be so far into the pockets of the Cartels that it wasn’t even funny.  It was a miracle that the Parahuman Response Taskforce hadn’t collapsed under the weight of its own corruption.

Emily scowled.  Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue as to how to even begin rooting out the corruption within her…within the PRT.  She was a soldier, not an investigator.  Beyond that, she didn’t know if she could trust anybody in the PRT, not even Deputy-Director Renick.

Looking up to see the other guests for the demonstration, an idea came to Emily.  If she couldn’t trust those within the PRT, perhaps she should look outside it.  Smirking to herself, Emily’s eyes met Chief Burns’.

‘I wonder if Burns still has those contacts in the FBI?’

* * *

  


Thomas Calvert, CEO of Fortress Construction and secretly known as the supervillain Coil, sat wearily in his comfy leather office chair, downing a pair of Advil with a glass of water.  Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes and waited for the painkillers to take effect against the throbbing beat in his temples.

It was strange, he reflected.  He’d had the ability to split the world into two timelines and picking which one to keep for years without a single problem, and yet, suddenly around New Year’s he couldn’t go a single day without succumbing to a splitting thinker headache.  Thank goodness he could pass it off as a persistent sinus infection.

Sighing, Thomas turned his thoughts to other matters.  So far, his plans to consolidate the Brockton Bay underworld into a single entity—under his control of course—were progressing nicely.  His mercenary forces were bolstered by the ride armors 'stolen' from his construction sites and negotiations with Trickster of the Travellers were going well.  Beyond that, he already had the identities of most of the city’s capes in his possession—and thanks to his Tattletale, he had a lead to finding the Empire 88 cape identities that eluded him.  Between his mercenaries, the Undersiders and, hopefully, the Travellers, he would soon be in control of the underworld, and he would be free to focus on his 'public' plans.

But for now, he had other matters to attend to.  Turning to his desk, Thomas picked up the ringing phone.

<<This is Alpha Team.  Target in sight, awaiting orders.>>

Thomas smiled sickeningly as he heard the mercenary’s words.  “Begin operation.”  Gritting his teeth, Coil split the world in two.

“Soon, pet.  Soon.”

* * *

  


“Uugh…”

Groaning in exasperation, a foppish-looking brunet paused his game and turned around.  “Must you keep making such noise?”

The blonde laying on the couch simply buried her face deeper into her pillow.  “Blagg…”

The muscular, dark-skinned young man sitting next to the brunet sighed.  “Leave Lisa alone, Alec.  Boss had her check out that new tinker at the docks.  Apparently, her power went into overdrive.”

Lisa groaned morosely.  “It just wouldn’t stop…oohh…”

A disgusted look crossed Alec’s face.  “She’s going to keep doing that, isn’t she Brian?”

Brian nodded.  “Seems likely.”

Alec groused.  “Great.”

“Look on the bright side,” Brian said.  “At least Rachel is out with her dogs.”

At that moment, the sound of a door opening followed by the scrabbling of nails on tile sounded through the hideout.  Alec glared balefully at Brian.  “I hate you.  So much.”


	30. Conflict 5:2

 

“Dinah!  What’s up, girl?”

Flinching at the sudden outburst, Dinah Alcott tensed up, before relaxing as she recognized the exuberant voice of her classmate.  “Hello Aisha.”

Aisha Laborn, a young African-American girl with clothes that could only be called ‘trashy’ and a streak of pink in her hair, grinned unabashedly.  “Ya left school in a hurry.  If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were tryin’ to avoid me.”  She threw an arm around Dinah conspiratorially.  “But you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“78.569% chance I would,” Dinah muttered.

Aisha clutched her chest dramatically.  “Argh, right through the heart!”  She threw her hand to her face.  “Aren’t we friends at all?”

Dinah smiled despite herself.  “96.274% chance we are.”

“See you love me,” Aisha declared triumphantly.  “But you and your numbers.  Ugh, I get enough of that in algebra.  ‘You can’t divide the variable by zero, you silly girl.’  Stupid Miss Amber.  ‘It only _approaches_ infinity,’” She mocked, mimicking an older voice.  “I don’t know how you can stand her.  You know, I ought’ta do something to her chair.  I bet she…”

Dinah sighed in amusement as Aisha ranted on.  It was nice, listening to the other girl talk about mundane things.  Hearing her go on about her fashion ideas or the latest prank she pulled on a teacher almost made Dinah forget the feelings of dread and the headaches brought upon her by the Numbers.  Almost.

“Ugh, stupid pedovans.  Always give me the creeps.  What, are windows too good for you?”

Dinah froze, a cold chill running down her back at Aisha’s words.  Slowly, the twelve-year-old brunette turned around, a question on her suddenly dry tongue.  “89.048% chance they’re here for me.”

“Whoa, Dines, you’re scarin’ me here,” Aisha exclaimed.  “Are you all…?”

Another question had Dinah turning to Aisha with wide, horrified eyes.  “84.261% chance they take both of us.”

Aisha’s eyes bugged out, shooting wide open.  “Oh, _hell_ no!  I ain’t becoming some fat rich fuckboy’s fuck puppet!”  Grabbing Dinah by the hand, the lanky teen pulled her along in a dead sprint.  “C’mon, let’s go!  I know a shortcut!”  Dragging Dinah down an alley, Aisha ignored the other girl’s protests.  “C’mon!  Once we get to the boardwalk, we can-!”

The two girls skittered to a halt as another nondescript, windowless panel van blocked the end of the open alley with a screeching of brakes.  A similar screeching behind them let the pair know they were cornered.

“96.003% chance we’d get caught if we go down this alley.”

“Well shit.”

* * *

  


Taylor hummed at the feeling of wind rushing past her face as she drove down the street.  The ride chaser was a dream to drive, though there were a few bugs to still work out.  The motorcycle-like hover vehicle positively purred, quite literally with the gentle hum given off by the anti-grav engines.  The steering was incredibly smooth, though at the same time tended to pull to one side if weight wasn’t distributed properly.  Then there was that strange flutter in the anti-grav fields every so often…well, it was just the prototype, a few kinks needing to be worked out was to be expected.

A small window opened in the corner of Taylor’s HUD.  She smiled at the waving form of Lan.  “Hey Lan.”

“Hey Mom!” Lan exclaimed.  “How’d the demonstration go?”

“Pretty good, I’d say,” Taylor responded.  “Chiefs Burns and Dornitz are going to the City Council to get funding for a small fleet of ride armors.  Speaking of,” Taylor noted.  “Open a new project file, would you?  Chief Dornitz suggested we come up with a transport for the ride armors, one they can deploy from quickly.  See if there are any truck designs we can use as a base.”

“Sure thing,” Lan acknowledged.

“Right, where was I?” Taylor asked.  “Oh, right, Burns and Dornitz are heading to City Hall, and Colonel O’Reilly said he’d put in an order just as soon as he took care of the paperwork for requisitioning from a civilian contractor.”  Her face darkened.  “Director Piggot though…”

“Wait,” questioned Lan.  “The Director for the entire East-NorthEast sector herself came?”

“Yeah,” Taylor replied.  She pursed her lips.  “It was…she gave me a warning.  Apparently, the thing with Dragon may have tipped my hand that I’m not ‘just’ a robotics tinker.”

“Oh.”

Taylor hummed in agreement.  “Yup.  Going to have to talk with Dad about this when I get home…”  She trailed off as she drifted to a stop at a red light.  “Lan.”

“Yes Mom?”

“I just realized something.”  Taylor looked down at the ride chaser.  “How am I going to get this home without the neighbors seeing?”

At that moment, as Taylor looked back up, a pair of black, panel vans barreled through the freshly green lit intersection, passing her in the opposite direction.  She sat there for a moment.  “Lan?”

“Yes?”

“Did I just see what I think I just saw?”

Lan paused.  “Uh…hang on.”

Another window opened in Taylor’s HUD, the image from Taylor’s contact lenses rewinding until it froze, revealing the armed men and the pair of bound and gagged girls in the back just visible through the tinted windshield.

Snarling, Taylor hauled the ride chaser around before shooting off after the two vans.

* * *

  


[In the back of the van](https://youtu.be/n2i0ep17VUk), Dinah sobbed, the tears soaking the blindfold covering her face.  She had no doubt that Aisha was in similar straights; though, the young girl seemed to be cussing out their kidnappers instead of crying, judging by the muffled grunting coming from the other side of the van.  Lying on her side, Dinah began to ask questions.

‘Chance they let us go?’

 _8.231%_

‘Chance they hurt us?’

 _97.877%_

‘Chance we can get away?’  Dinah’s head began to throb.

 _5.230%_

‘Chance Aisha can get away?’

 _21.401%_

Dinah’s breath caught in her throat.  ‘Chance _I_ can get away?”

 _2.581%_

Despairing at the less than ideal answers she was getting, Dinah pushed past the roaring fire in her skull.  ‘Chance we get rescued?’

A terrible pain, unlike anything she had ever felt before, lanced through Dinah’s temples like a spear of burning ice.  For a long moment, there was no answer, and Dinah began to sob ever harder; even the numbers had failed her.

But then, an answer finally came, and the tears soaking the blindfold were no longer from despair, but from joy.

 _ERROR: DIVIDE BY ZERO_

* * *

  


Gritting her teeth, Taylor pushed her ride chaser to the limit as she rode to catch up with the two vans.  On her HUD, Lan was busy with several datastreams.

“Okay, Mom.  BBPD dispatch has tasked several patrol cars to stop the vans.”

True to Lan’s words, the wail of police sirens began to echo off the canyon walls created by the downtown urban jungle as two patrol cars turned onto the street, lights flashing.  A smirk flashed across Taylor’s face, leaning closer against the body of the ride chaser as the vans came into sight.

* * *

  


Inside the trailing van, one of the mercenaries heard the sirens and looked out the tinted back windscreen.  Starting at the sight of a tinkertech motorcycle and a pair of patrol cars bearing down on them, he thumped the shoulder of the mercenary next to him.  “We’ve got company!  Cape and two LEOs!”

Snarling, the driver grabbed the CB radio microphone off the dash.  “Alpha Lead, we’ve been made.  Going loud.”

The radio crackled.  <<Roger that: going loud.  Waste ‘em.>>

As the mercenaries in the back and riding shotgun began to check their weapons, one of the soldiers-of-fortune stood up and opened the hatch in the roof.

* * *

  


Taylor harrumphed as a hatch opened on top of the second van.  “I think they’ve seen me.”  A moment later, Taylor’s eyes bulged at the bulky, multi-barreled shape that swung out of the van.  “Oh…that is a big gun.”

Reflexively, Taylor hit the brakes, falling back as two patrol cars zipped by.  To her horror, the gunner operating the mounted minigun opened fire upon the patrol cars.

 _WhirrrrBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!_

The front half of the first patrol car was shredded; losing control, the driver veered over to the side and slammed into a row of parked cars.  The second patrol car was not as lucky, the solid line of bullets and tracers spewing from the spinning barrels of the minigun tracking across the windshield and mulching the unfortunate driver and passenger within.  The stricken police cruiser hitched to the side, flipping into a tumbling sidelong roll down the street.

Swerving around the tumbling vehicle, Taylor immediately began to strafe side to side, avoiding the streams of bullets that tore towards her.  Gritting her teeth, she flipped a switch on the ride chaser’s dash.

On the front of the ride chaser, two blisters snapped open, deploying a pair of heavy-barreled cannons.  The barrels glowed, the cannon’s fusion chambers filling with plasma as the ride chaser’s targeting systems synchronized with Taylor’s HUD.  Grinning viciously as a pair of crosshairs centered on the blazing minigun, she triumphantly squeezed the two thumb triggers on the handlebars.

BZATBZATBZATBZATZBATZBAT!

The twin buster cannons roared angrily, peppering the minigun with boiling plasma.  The spinning barrels flew off and away, the plasma-heated axle shearing off as the superheated ammunition cooked off.  There was a scream as the gunner fell down into the van, and for a brief moment, Taylor thought she could smell bacon.

With the van defanged, Taylor shifted aim, firing the cannons in short bursts, blowing the rear tires to molten shreds.  The van swerved, wobbling drunkenly across the road before finally giving up the ghost, crashing into its side and smashing through a storefront.

Leaving the crippled vehicle to the police, Taylor rocketed after the surviving van.

* * *

  


One of the mercenaries in the back of the lead van cursed.  “We lost Alpha-2.”

The mercenary riding shotgun pointed out his open window, adding to the bad news.  “Police barricade ahead!”

The driver snarled, flipping a switch on the dashboard.  “Hang on.”  A glowing, hard-light plow materialized on the front of the van.  “We’re blowing through.”

A moment later, they hit the barricade.

* * *

  


Taylor watched in dismay as the kidnappers’ rampaging van smashed through the police barricade, sending two cruisers tumbling through the air.  Cursing, Taylor activated the ride chaser’s EAS, boosting under the two falling wrecks before they crashed to the ground.  “This is getting way out of hand.  Megaman!  Where’s the PRT?”

Lan grimaced from the window in Taylor’s HUD.  “There’s been a lot of construction work downtown lately.  A multi-car pileup’s put the entire downtown area into gridlock.  They can’t get through.”

Taylor grit her teeth as she saw the van barrel onto a freeway on ramp.  “Then I’ll just have to take care of it myself.”

Following the van onto the freeway, Taylor found herself playing a demented game of dodgeball, dodging airborne vehicles as the van plowed its way through the sparse traffic.  Swerving back and forth to avoid the meteoric automobiles crashing down around her, Taylor was unable to draw a bead on the tires.

As they hit a lull in the traffic, Taylor got an idea.  Activating the ride chaser’s EAS, she boosted forward.  Pulling alongside the van, Taylor wrenched the handlebars to the side, throwing the ride chaser into a risky flat spin.  Roaring in defiance as the van’s passenger aimed a pistol at her, Taylor opened fire with the cannons, perforating the front of the vehicle with plasma.

The van wallowed, the engine rendered into so much slag by dozens of plasma bolts.  Taylor recovered from her ride chaser’s spin just in time to see the van drift to the side of the freeway, jumping a set of Jersey walls.  The van bounced violently; with the engine destroyed, the hard-light plow had disappeared, and the front of the vehicle was crushed by the sudden impact.

As the van ground to a halt on the Jersey barrier, Taylor pulled up behind it and dismounted from the ride chaser.  Shifting her arm into buster-mode, she advanced carefully upon the disabled van.  Reaching the rear of the vehicle, Taylor threw the doors open, ready for anything.

It was therefore to her surprise that she found herself with two armfuls of ballistic, crying teenagers, the two kidnapped girls somehow managing to free themselves from their restraints and blindfolds after the crash.  Looking over the two crying girls’ shoulders, Taylor grimaced; the kidnappers had not been wearing seat belts, it seemed.

Turning away from the van, Taylor gently led the two girls towards the ride chaser as the sounds of sirens slowly grew louder.

* * *

  


In the wrecked van, the driver came to, finding himself pinned to the seat by the steering column.  Coughing up blood, the man shakily reached into one of the pockets of his tactical vest, pulling out a cracked vial.

Staring at the container full of a vile-looking sludge, the mercenary recalled his employer’s instructions.

 _“Should the mission be in danger of failure, drink the contents of this vial.”_

Unsteadily pulling out the rubber stopper, the mercenary brought the vessel to his lips, gagging at the stench and slimy texture.

The vial fell, shattering against the surface of the freeway.


	31. Conflict 5:3

 

Taylor sighed as she set the two girls down next to her ride chaser. “Are you two okay?” She relaxed, pulling out a pocket knife as the two nodded. “That’s good. What are your names?”

The black girl spoke up. “I’m Aisha, and this is Dinah. Thanks for savin’ us, I guess.”

“You’re very welcome,” Taylor replied, cutting through the zip-ties restraining them. "I’m X.” As the two girls rubbed their wrists, Taylor’s radio beeped. “Hey, uh, hold tight, okay? I need to take a call.”

Walking a short distance away from the girls and the ride chaser, Taylor activated her communications suite. “X here.”

<<X, this is Armsmaster. You reported a kidnapping in progress. What’s your status?>>

Taylor sighed heavily. “I’m…I’m fine. I’ve got the two girls right here. They’re shook up, but otherwise unharmed.”

<<I see. That’s good.>>

“How did you get this frequency?”

<<Dragon.>> Taylor nodded to herself. It made sense, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t told Tess not to give out her ‘work number.’ <<Can you describe the kidnappers? What’s their status?>>

“Kidnappers were heavily armed men in two black vans,” Taylor stated, doing her best to emulate Baryl’s ‘business’ tone. “One of the vans had a turret mounted minigun; it’s on its side in a storefront on 7th and Captain’s. The girls were in the other van. It had what I’m assuming to be a tinkertech hardlight generator that created a cowcatcher on the front. It…um…crashed. The two girls were alright, but…” Taylor grimaced and turned away from the crashed van. “The kidnappers were…I’m not sure, but the ones in the back…they weren’t wearing seatbelts.”

There was a pause. <<I see.>> Taylor thought she could hear typing coming from the other end. <<Any survivors?>>

“I don’t know,” Taylor replied truthfully. “I was more concerned with making sure the two girls were okay.”

<<Understandable.>> There was a hiss of static before Armsmaster spoke again. <<Kid Win and Vista are on route to render assistance. We would appreciate if you were to cooperate and follow their lead.>>

Taylor breathed out. “Alright, I can…” She trailed off, a frown on her face at the low creak that came from the wrecked van.

<<X? Are you still there?>>

“Something’s wrong,” Taylor muttered breathily. She started to inch towards the van, ready for-

“DINAH!”

Taylor jerked about in time to see Dinah collapse bonelessly into Aisha’s lap, the black girl frantically shouting in panic. “X! Help!”

Abandoning the van, Taylor sprinted over to the two girls, dropping into a baseball slide next to Dinah. Fishing for a pulse with her organic hand, the tinker turned to Aisha. “What happened?”

“I dunno,” Aisha exclaimed tearfully. “She was fine, then she muttered something and keeled over.”

Sighing in relief as she found a strong pulse, Taylor began examining the girl’s head for any wounds. “Does she have any allergies? Any pre-existing conditions that you know of?”

“No, no, she’s…Why are you asking this?” Aisha sputtered.

The tension in Taylor’s shoulders lessened as she failed to find any bumps or depressions on Dinah’s skull. “I’m asking so that I can tell the paramedics anything that they might need to know,” she explained. “It might save valuable time if something’s wrong with her. Now, what can you tell me?”

“She’s,” Aisha hesitated, taking a deep breath. “She’s been having really bad headaches lately.” She bit her lip in uncertainty. “I think they get worse when she starts talking about the numbers.”

“The…numbers?” Taylor questioned.

<<Hm, Dinah might be a parahuman, sounds like a typical, albeit severe thinker headache.>>

Taylor started, jumping as Armsmaster’s voice came from her radio. “Oh! You’re still there.” She waved off Aisha’s confused look and gestured at her helmet.

<<Indeed,>> Taylor heard the hero respond wryly. <<I heard everything. How is the girl?>>

“She’s mostly fine, has a strong pulse,” Taylor reported. “I think she might have just passed out; I haven’t been able to find anything wrong with her.”

<<I see. That’s good, but best not to risk it. Do what you can to keep her stable until Kid Win and Vista arrive. They will know what to do.>>

“Alright, I -” Taylor trailed off, the petrified look on Aisha’s face giving her pause.

 _Screech!_

The wrenching shriek of tortured metal assaulted Taylor’s ears. Turning away from Aisha and Dinah, Taylor was met with the sight of the wrecked van crumpling in on itself, not unlike an aluminum can being crushed in one’s hand.

The acrid smell of gasoline assaulted Taylor’s nose, and to her horror she saw clear liquid flowing from a gash in the wreck’s fuel tank.

Another tortured contraction of the van’s structure sent gouts of sparks into the air. In what felt like slow motion, Taylor watched the sparks fall towards the spreading pool of gasoline. She turned to Aisha and Dinah.

As the world went up in flames, Taylor threw herself over the two girls.

* * *

  


“Wake up! Please wake up!”

As she returned to the realm of consciousness, Taylor became aware of two pairs of hands roughly shaking her. Opening her eyes, the tinker found her HUD full of blaring warnings and flashing system reports. Groaning, she tried to sit up, only for the world to spin violently around her.

A moment passed, as did the vertigo, and Taylor found herself staring at the two girls, both a bit scuffed up and dirty, but otherwise unharmed. Sighing in relief, Taylor went to hug the two, only to wince in pain. Her skin felt hot and tight, like an angry red sunburn after a day in the sun. Hissing in discomfort, Taylor looked down at her armor, taking note of the charring on the tinkertech material; it appeared that, while the armor had taken the brunt of the force, it had not fully protected Taylor from the heat of the explosion. Something to work on, she supposed.

The explosion. Suddenly brought back to the present, Taylor looked around the freeway, taking in the scattered and burning scrap around them. Including the large chunk of rebar piercing the control module of the ride chaser. Taylor groaned. That was going to take forever to fix.

Setting aside the damage to the ride chaser, Taylor focused on Aisha and Dinah. “You okay?”

Sighing in relief as the two girls nodded, Taylor bent down to help them to their feet. While the online first aid courses she had taken emphasized waiting for paramedics before moving victims of a car crash, Taylor also knew that sitting in the middle of burning, smoky wreckage probably wasn’t the best idea. “Come on, let’s go wait over there,” she suggested, grasping Aisha’s hand and pulling her upright before doing the same for Dinah.

Taylor’s radio suddenly crackled, snapping and popping with static and broken, indecipherable words. Frowning, the armored hero brought her hand up to her helmet, her frown morphing into a scowl as her questing fingers found a telltale dent in the small panel covering the radio. A few rough taps elicited a faint rattle. ‘ _Damn. Must have knocked something loose. I knew I should’ve used the other solder._ ’

A loud, rumbling groan passed through the air, bringing Taylor up short. Swallowing thickly, and absently noting just how pale Aisha and Dinah had suddenly become, Taylor slowly turned around. She immediately regretted doing so, for in the burning wreck of the van, shrouded by the thick, cloying smoke of the burning gas tank, a massive silhouette loomed.

[An ill wind picked up](https://youtu.be/42CO4L7zyBw), blowing away the smoke. As the oily fumes dispersed, they slowly revealed a ghastly sight. A behemoth of writhing flesh and twisted metal stood there, a vaguely simian shape that loomed over the shattered remains of the black van. Thick, ropey strands of muscle bulged grotesquely, hardly seeming to be real with the oily rainbow sheen covering them. Jagged pieces of metal jutted out from the monstrosity, looking for all the world like the shattered remnants of crude, metal armor. Its head, little more than a skin-covered, distended skull perched atop horrifically swollen shoulders, was framed with a horrendously twisted face, only barely recognizable as once being human.

Reaching her hands out behind her, Taylor backed up, doing her best to shield Aisha and Dinah from the looming monstrosity before them. “Girls. Aisha, Dinah,” Taylor whispered hoarsely, watching the monster lurch out of the burning wreckage and onto the concrete surface of the raised road. It hadn’t seen them yet, but how long would that last? “When I say go, I need you two to run.”

“But-”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Taylor assured, unsure of who had tried to object. She took a breath, only for that breath to hitch as the monster turned its head towards them. “Go.” The monster took a step forward, a roar like a bubbling blast furnace bellowing from its misshapen maw. Taylor spun around, gathering Aisha and Dinah in her arms and giving them a forceful push down the freeway. “Go!”

As the two girls ran down the wreckage strewn freeway, Taylor spun back around, her left arm shifting into buster mode. Aiming at the monster as it lumbered forward, Taylor grit her teeth as motes of light gathered in the barrel of her buster.

With a mighty _tschew_ , an incandescent ball of plasma shot forth, on course for the monster’s misshapen face. The beast shielded its face, the charged shot splashing off its massive forearm with a meaty pop and the smell of cooked pork and burning metal. Roaring with rage, the monster took to all fours, loping along in a gorilla-like motion.

“Oh poop.”

Taking to her heels, Taylor raced away down the freeway, wracking her brains as she tried to come up with a plan. ‘ _Plasma didn’t work, Neural Disruptor won’t tickle something that size. Flechette launcher?_ ’ Glancing over her shoulder, Taylor watched the monster step on an empty convertible. She paled as she saw the car simply unravel, and then went nearly white as she saw the monster grow larger, pieces of the car pushing out from its skin. ‘ _Definitely not the flechettes!_ ’ Circling around a flipped sedan, Taylor growled to herself. ‘ _Come on, come on, think! I just need one idea, just one spark!_ ’

Taylor mentally paused, casting a look over her shoulder as she slid over the crumpled hood of a destroyed minivan. ‘ _A spark_. _That’s it!_ ’

Scrambling up the undercarriage of an upturned sportscar onto the roof of an abandoned moving truck, Taylor spun around to face the oncoming monster, three rods extending from the barrel of her buster as her armor took on a yellow on purple coloring. She took aim, a faint laser stretching forth to connect buster and monster as it began to emit an electrical whine.

The monster, uncaring of the laser aimed at it, lurched forward, bringing its oversized claws up to strike at the unmoving tinker.

Thunder rolled. The monster stopped cold in its tracks, transfixed by the massive bolt of lightning emerging from the end of Taylor’s buster. The monster jerked, seizing up as actinic light shone from its eyes and mouth. Then, it was over, the lightning bolt leaving behind a lingering purple afterimage. The monster slowly toppled over, falling to the ground where it lay unmoving, its flesh visibly smoking.

Taylor hissed in pain, gripping her shoulder as her arm sparked. ‘ _Damn, overloaded the capacitors_.’

“X!” Taylor looked down to see Aisha and Dinah peeking out from behind a random wrecked car, Aisha looking about as Dinah rested her forehead against the cool metal. “Is it over? Are we safe?” the punk girl inquired hesitantly.

“Yes,” Taylor assured, jumping down off the moving van to land lightly on the road. She put her organic hand on her hip, her other stuck in buster mode once again. “I thought I told you two to run.”

“We did,” Aisha insisted. “But Dinah said we’d be safe if we stopped right here.”

Before Taylor could inquire further, the space before her warped, depositing two teenagers; a blonde girl in a wavy green, armored skirt and a boy in red and gold armor.

“Is everything alright?” the boy asked, pulling a high-tech pistol off his hip.

“We saw a high-intensity energy discharge on the way over,” the girl explained, looking around for threats.

“Everything’s under control,” Taylor assured, her heart still beating rather quickly. “Vista and Kid Win, I assume? Armsmaster said you were on the way.”

“That’s right,” Vista replied, a self-sure smile on her face. “We would have been here sooner, but we had to stop to help the police on Captain’s Street,” she said apologetically, breaking into a grimace. “They needed help getting-getting into a crashed patrol car,” the Ward explained, a hitch in her voice.

Taylor grimaced as well, remembering the grisly fate of the occupants of at least one of the patrol cars that had tried to follow the kidnappers’ vans. “I understand,” she said simply.

“We’re to secure the kidnappers and their van until CSI arrives,” Kid Win explained, changing the subject as he looked around. “Um, where are they?”

Taylor hissed awkwardly, looking over the two Wards’ shoulders at the steaming pile of meat and metal. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore.”

* * *

[From his underground bunker](https://youtu.be/5H0dDBCmza4), Coil let out an aggravated sigh as he watched the results of setting Alpha squad loose to pick up his new pet. Not only had they botched the pickup, grabbing the sister of one of his catspaws and his only means of controlling said catspaw, but they had somehow attracted the attention of a local hero, the upstart tinker known as X. Even better, they’d gotten into a high-speed chase that had made it onto the national news, culminating with the mutated mercenary dying on live television.

Coil was seriously regretting giving Alpha Lead that vial. Not only had it mutated the man beyond recognition, but the mercenary hadn’t even the decency to withstand a single man-made lightning bolt. Disgraceful.

Of course, he hadn’t wanted to give Alpha Lead the vial. But his benefactors, the ones responsible for granting his powers with a similar vial, had suggested that he supply one of his mercenaries with it. That the woman in the fedora had delivered said vial had only served to cement that they were calling in one of his owed ‘favors.’

‘But for now, it is time to close this timeline,’ he thought, flipping the mental switch. However, instead of Thomas Calvert suddenly being at home, eating dinner at his kitchen table, Coil instead remained in his lair office, his “safe” timeline ceasing to exist.

For a long moment, Coil could only sit there, frozen in that existential horror one has when they realize they’ve made a terrible, irrevocable mistake. Finally, he was able to speak a single word.

“Shit.”


	32. Conflict 5:4

 

Taylor was in the midst of trying to get her buster back into working shape when she heard a distinct humming sound.  Looking up from her perch on the back step of a fire engine, she saw Armsmaster pull up to the police cordon on his motorcycle.  As she watched, the power armored man dismounted and made his way over to the PRT agent in charge of the crime scene.  By extension, this included most of the freeway, only a single southbound lane open to traffic.

Shrugging off Armsmaster’s presence (it _was_ a crime scene, after all), Taylor resumed poking at the internals of her buster with a miniature screwdriver, the compact tool serving to check solders and connections.  So far, Taylor had yet to find the fault preventing her buster from shifting back into arm form, but by process of elimination, she had narrowed the problem down to somewhere in the vicinity of the variable weapons system, if not the VWS itself.

The screwdriver shifted, eliciting a loud pop and the sudden smell of ozone.  Yelping in surprise, Taylor jerked, flinging the screwdriver to parts unknown at the sting of a substantial electrical shock.  Shaking out her benumbed fingers, Taylor scowled at the buster’s access panel.  On the bright side, she knew where the fault was.  On the other hand, the fix was a two-handed job.  Something she was sorely lacking at the moment.

“Is everything alright?”

Looking up, Taylor saw Armsmaster standing before her, the wayward screwdriver caught in hand.  Taylor blinked; she had not heard the man approaching at all.  For a moment, all she could think about was how quiet Armsmaster could be in his armor, but then her faculties brought her back on track.

“Oh, yes, just some repairs,” she explained, bending down to peer closely at the electronic guts of the buster, only to bite off a curse as a spark arced into her mask-covered nose.

“Is there…anything I can help with,” Armsmaster inquired, hesitantly voicing his question.

Taylor paused, looking up.  For a tinker, asking if another tinker wanted help with…actually, Taylor hadn’t a clue what the social norms for the situation were.  “I’ll be honest, I don’t really know what the protocol for this is.  Working with other tinkers’ tech, that is.  I mean, I worked with Dragon’s but I don’t really think that counts, there were extenuating circumstances and…”  Taylor drew up short, slapping her hand to her face and taking a deep breath.  ‘ _Easy Taylor, you’re rambling.’_   Letting out her breath, Taylor looked up to meet Armsmaster’s visored gaze.  “Yes, I would appreciate help.”

Nodding, Armsmaster knelt down until he was level with Taylor.  “What do you need?”

Twisting her arm around, Taylor showed the older tinker the open panel on her buster.  “See there?  I need to run a bypass past that burnt out component.”  She eyed his halberd.  “You got a soldering gun in that oversized Swiss army knife of yours?”

Armsmaster twisted the haft of his halberd just so, smirking as a small pen-like device popped out from under the blade housing.

Taylor blinked.  “Huh, I was being facetious.”  Shaking her head, Taylor held up a small length of wire.  “I hold in place, you solder?”

“Sounds about right,” Armsmaster agreed.

A few minutes later, Taylor was finally able to shift her buster back into a hand.  Working her fingers, she blew a short raspberry.  “You know, you forget how wonderful it is to have two hands until you need both hands but only have one,” she said out loud to no one in particular.  She glanced at Armsmaster.  “Thanks.”

“You are most welcome,” the older man replied.  “I must say,” he stated after a moment’s pause.  “I find myself rather impressed at the level of miniaturization in your buster.”

“Thank you,” Taylor responded earnestly.  After all, when _the_ miniaturization tinker compliments your work, well, that’s quite the accolade.  “I had a hard time bringing the maintenance requirements down to a weekly disassembly and cleaning though.”

There was a long, awkward pause, and as Armsmaster stared blankly at her, Taylor wondered if she had said something wrong.

Finally, Armsmaster spoke.  “I see,” he said stiffly, before the older tinker paused and tilting his head slightly.  “Apologies, I have lost sight of why I am here in the first place.  I understand you told the lead agent on scene that you have a helmet cam?  We will need a copy of the relevant footage to all this,” he stated, panning an arm across the wreckage strewn freeway.

“Of course,” Taylor agreed, taking the sudden shift in tone in stride.  “Will sending a USB by courier suffice?”

Armsmaster nodded in assent.  “Yes, that will suffice.  Secondly, I will need to know what weapon you used against…” he paused, lips pursed as he checked something on his HUD.  “Grendel, the monstrous cape you dealt with.”

Taylor nodded, suppressing a grimace as she glanced over at the tarp-covered form on the tarmac.  She held up her left forearm, shifting it into buster mode.  Her armor took on a yellow on purple color scheme as three rods extended from the muzzle of the buster; however, portions of her charred armor remained stubbornly blue.

“This is my Lightning Cannon.  It’s a high-voltage taser-type weapon that conducts electricity along an ionized laser trail.  The default setting is low current, but I can charge up a capacitor to bring it to lethal levels,” Taylor explained.  She lowered the Lightning Cannon buster across her chest, poking at the three tines extended from the muzzle.  “I think that’s what shorted out my buster earlier,” she said, partially to herself.

“I see,” Armsmaster stated, leaning in close.  A moment later, a small LED on the side of his visor flashed, accompanied by the digitalized sound effect of an old-fashioned camera shutter click.  Standing up, the older tinker frowned apologetically.  “Evidence log,” he said by way of explanation.  He took a breath, looking Taylor up and down.  “Might I ask the purpose of your armor’s palette change?”

Taylor looked down, taking in her outfit’s new yellow on purple layout, then looked back up.  “It’s primarily a means of indicating to others what weapon I am using,” she explained.  “It seemed prudent to do so, considering how primitive the operating systems of my Pantheons are.”

“Clever,” Armsmaster remarked.  “You’re not worried about an adversary using the color change to devise a counter?”

“Not really,” Taylor deflected, colors returning to normal as her buster shifted back into a hand.  “My Variable Weapons System may only be able to support a limited number of configurations at a single time, but it’s a relatively simple process to switch those configurations out.”  Truth be told, it was really only a matter of installing and uninstalling a set of drivers, but Armsmaster didn’t really need to know that.  Nor did he need to know, Taylor reasoned, her VWS’ full capabilities.  Not when _she_ didn’t yet know the VWS’ full capabilities; such as just how exactly it made new weapons data.  Still a mystery, that.

“Modular systems do have their advantages,” Armsmaster stated approvingly.  Then he paused, head tilting momentarily to one side.  “Thank you for your time,” he said, bringing his attention back to Taylor.  “Do you know where Vista and Kid Win are?”

Taylor pointed, gesturing towards the other side of the fire engine.  “They were over by the remains of the kidnappers’ van, last I saw.”

“Thank you.” Lifting his halberd in brief salute, Armsmaster turned sharply and marched off, disappearing around the side of the fire truck.

With Armsmaster gone, Taylor let out a sigh and began to poke at the charred portions of her suit.  First order of business once she got back to the lab was to repair the Lifeshield; while the energy field had protected her and her temporary charges from the worst of the explosion’s shrapnel and debris, it hadn’t done much (if anything) to stop the intense heat of the blast from getting through.  A major flaw that needed fixing.

Another sigh.  The second order of business was to upgrade her suit.  Her uniform was essentially a posthumous gift from her mother, but the day’s events had proven to Taylor that it was time to take it off, give it a good, thorough cleaning, and hang it up in a place of honor.  Fortunately, Taylor already had a few ideas percolating about that.  Better armor, maybe a chest piece and one of those things that went around your hips and covered your groin (what were those called? Codpieces?).

Taylor paused, craning her head to stare at the corner of the fire engine Armsmaster had vanished behind.  Perhaps an armor system to put over her armor?  Power armor for her armor?  She hmmed in thought.  The idea had merit, but how to implement it?

The idea would have to wait though.  Once she got back to the lab…

The teenager’s train of thought trailed off.  Oh, right, her radio was dead.  And her ride chaser was now evidence at a crime scene.  Great.  She sighed in exasperation.  ‘ _Now how am I supposed to get home?’_

“X!”

Taylor let out a strangled yelp as she was suddenly borne to the ground by an unexpected glomp.  Blinking in surprise, she looked down to her side, and gave a chuckle.  “Hi Alpha.”

“Mo…X!  You’re okay,” Alpha exclaimed, burying his face into Taylor’s side.  “I was so worried!”

Smiling, Taylor looked down at her youngest son.  She awkwardly patted Alpha as best she could, the young reploid’s hug pinning her upper arms to her sides.  “Okay Alpha, I need you to get off me now.”

“Don’ wanna.”

Taylor frowned.  “Alpha.”  It wasn’t quite at the level of her mother’s ‘ _don’t make me repeat myself_ ’ tone, but it was close enough.

Grumbling unhappily, Alpha nonetheless reluctantly let go and stood up, letting Taylor free.  As she stood up, she gave him a quick once-over.

At first glance, Alpha resembled his old prototype Pantheon frame, standing at five-foot-ten and armored in blue.  The resemblance ended there though.  For one, his armor was much bulkier, and emulated the hard angles and edges of modern tank armor.  For another, two blocky modules peeked over his shoulders, almost like a pair of stubby, boxy wings.  Finally, much like Barret and Tess—Colonel and Dragon if you were being formal—Alpha now sported a layer of synthetically grown skin.  His face was smooth, youthful, unmarred by the pains of age and hard experience, and though covered by a reflective black visor, Taylor knew that his bright, expressive eyes were the same shade of green as her own.

“Alpha, I’m okay,” Taylor assured the young reploid, placing her hands on his shoulders.  “I just got into a bit of a tiff and broke my radio.”  Looking from side to side, Taylor frowned as a thought occurred to her.  “Alpha.  How did you get here?”

Alpha took a deep breath, only to pause.  He slowly subsided, tapping his fingers together sheepishly.

Taylor crossed her arms.  “Alpha.”

“I used the Transerver,” Alpha said shamefacedly.

“Alpha,’ Taylor exclaimed worry tinged exasperation.  “You know you’re not supposed to use the Transerver.  It’s not ready for people yet, you could have hurt yourself,” she worried, hugging Alpha close and squeezing him tight.

“But,” Alpha wheezed out.  “I didn’t.”

Taylor sighed.  “No.  You didn’t.”  She let Alpha go, shaking her head in fond vexation.  “I’m still not happy with you.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “Do Megaman, Colonel or Iris know you’re here?”

“Umm…no.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Taylor let out another sigh.  “Well, at least that’s something.”

Before Taylor could continue her scolding, Kid Win came around the corner, nose almost pressed up against the screen of a softly bleeping device that looked vaguely like a stubby metal detector.

“Hey X, I’m sorry to bother you,” Kid Win started, not looking away from his device as he walked closer.  “But our sensors caught a burst of high-intensity energy and we were…”  He trailed off as he looked up.   “Uh…who’s this, and why is he at our crime scene,” the ward asked, gesturing at Alpha.

“This is my son, Alpha,” Taylor introduced.  “He’s here, because he used my Transerver, which was still being tested,” she explained, the last part aimed at an abashed Alpha.

Kid Win opened his mouth, slowly pointing back and forth between Taylor and Alpha.  Finally, he slowly closed his mouth and tried again.  “What’s a Transerver?”

“It’s a prototype point-to-point transportation unit,” Taylor hedged, not quite sure if she should admit to having a working, if still experimental teleporter.  “Alpha used it because my radio broke and he was worried about me.”

“Oh, okay,” Kid responded, mouthing the words ‘point-to-point’ with a puzzled expression before shrugging it off.  “Uh, I’ll just let Armsmaster know everything’s under control,” he said, turning to walk away.

A moment later, he paused, turning back around.  “I almost forgot.  Armsmaster said you’re free to go whenever.”

“Thank you,” Taylor acknowledged.  “My ride chaser, when can I have that back?”

“Ride chaser?  The tinkertech bike by the kidnappers’ van,” Kid Win questioned, to which Taylor nodded.  “You should get an official notice about it once we’re done with the investigation,” the ward explained.  “You know, standard procedure.  Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Taylor declined.

Giving a quick, informal salute, Kid Win left.

Taking a breath, Taylor turned to Alpha.  “Is your radio working?”  Alpha nodded.  “Good.  Could you call Colonel, tell him to get us a cab,” Taylor asked.  “Oh, and I know you meant well, but when we get back, we _will_ be having a talk about appropriate usage of experimental devices,” she said sternly.

As he made to follow his instructions, Alpha couldn’t help but let out a gulp.


	33. Interlude 5:y

 

>  **February 19, 2011:**

“Hey, Mike,” called a somewhat chubby, brown-haired man, brown eyes set in a narrow face focused on the screen of a laptop.  “Come look at this.”

His friend, a burly, sandy-blond with expressive green eyes walked over, wiping the sweat off his face with a small towel.  “What’s up Steve?”

Steve turned to his friend, only to screw up his face and gag.  “Dude!  Deodorant!”

Mike looked down at Steve with an unamused expression.  “Hey, you’re the one who called me in the middle of my workout.  What did you want?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve gestured at his computer screen.  “Check this out.  I was going over yesterday’s snitch footage, and I found something cool over by the docks.”  He typed in a few commands, then angled the screen for Mike to see.  “Check it.”

Leaning in close, Mike watched the footage play before his eyes.  “Is that…an arm cannon?”

“Yup,” Steve said, a big grin on his face.  “So, Uber, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Well, sure Leet,” Mike replied with a thoughtful expression.  “But where are we going to find bagpipes at this hour?”

“What?  No.”  Steve looked at Mike in confusion.  “ _No_.  I think it’s time we do _this_ ,” he said, bringing up a picture on his laptop.

Mike looked at the picture with a dawning mien of understanding.  “Oh~.”  He grinned, matching Steve’s enthusiastic smile.  “That could work.”

* * *

  


> **February 26, 2011:**

“Hunter!  You stand before the might of the Space Pirate legions!”

Uber and Leet stood on an empty shipping container, just one of many creating the walls of a makeshift arena here in this long-abandoned shipping yard.  Both were dressed in costume, suits made of foam and rubber shaped into images of reptilian like creatures with insectile features.

Uber continued speaking, his suit projecting his voice clearly.  “Will you accept this challenge and face Lord Ridley, or will you flee like the craven coward you are?”

Down below, in the center of the makeshift arena, X looked from side to side in bemusement.  “Uh…sure?”

“Excellent!”

Leet dropped down the seventeen feet from the top of his shipping container, landing easily in a crouch as the powered exoskeleton in his suit absorbed the impact.  Trotting over to X, he produced a sheaf of papers and a pen.  “Sign here, here, here, and initial here.  This will absolve us of any responsibility in the event of injury.”

Hesitantly, X reached out and signed the papers.

Stuffing the papers into his suit, Leet beamed.  “Excellent!  Now, before we get started, just a quick disclaimer.  All your opponents will be robots and hard light projections, so feel free to go all out.”  With that, Leet performed a series of backwards hops back to the arena wall, before leaping up next to Uber with no problems.

“Let the reckoning begin,” Uber announced.  No sooner had his bellow stopped echoing around the makeshift arena did a multitude of strange and alien creatures start crawling, flying, and hopping out of the veritable woodworks as music began to play from hidden speakers.

X took no time in responding, their left arm shifting into a large cannon that soon began unleashing a flurry of yellow plasma shots.  Though the number of targets was slightly intimidating, it only took one or two shots before even the largest of the creatures broke apart into pulsating starbursts.

“Look at that, look at that,” Leet crowed.  “It’s just like the game.  Oh, if only I had been able to get my arm cannon working,” he lamented.

“Yeah,” Uber agreed.  “Pity the gun’s on the wrong side though.”

“Eh, we can always fix that in editing.”

A high-pitched bweeping drew the two game-nerds’ attention, just in time to see X brace their arm cannon with their free hand.  To the two’s surprise, a massive ball of incandescent energy shot forth, completely obliterating an entire swath of holographic monsters.

“Oh my God, he even has a charge shot,” Leet exclaimed, almost completely geeking out at the wanton destruction.

“If only he was a girl,” Uber said with a sigh, staring wistfully at the mass of fading starbursts.

At that moment, the remaining creatures flickered and faded, leaving X looking about in confusion at an empty arena.

“Dammit,” Leet cursed, poking at a hidden computer mounted to his left arm.  “Projector’s fried.”

“Should we move on to the boss,” Uber asked worriedly.

“Probably for the best,” Leet agreed, before a small capsule with a glowing representation of a rocket appeared in the middle of the arena.  “At least the missile tank is still working.”

Down below, X touched the missile tank, the projection vanishing with an angelic fanfare.  Before Uber and Leet’s eyes, the other tinker’s armor changed, taking on an orange on yellow coloration as the arm cannon shifted, the end of the barrel splitting into four petal-like structures.

X aimed the changed arm cannon up into the air, and a missile shot forth, rocketing up into the air over the arena and exploding harmlessly in a small cloud of smoke and flame.

“Wut,” Uber asked, looking on bafflement.

“What the hell,” Leet exclaimed slowly, expression curling up in befuddlement.  “That…how…that wasn’t even a real…it was just a hologram.”

“Tinkers are bullshit,” Uber posited.

Leet held out a hand, then dropped it to his side.  “Yeah, tinkers are bullshit.”  After a moment, Leet lifted his arm up again and typed in a command.  “Sending in big R.”

Pounding, frenetic music began to play, and a massive form launched itself into the arena, throwing up dust with a resounding crash.  The dust cleared, revealing a massive pterodactyl-esque dragon, its bat-like wings splayed in threatening display.  As X leveled their arm cannon missile launcher at the dragon, it roared, rising up on its toes in preparation to charge.

Of course, that was when everything went wrong…again.

The robotic dragon shuddered, seizing up and toppling over.  It crashed to the ground and lay still, thick white smoke pouring from its open mouth and other orifices.  The music piping through the arena died out a moment later, trailing off with an arthritic wheeze.

“Shit.”  Leet sat heavily, legs splayed forward as he visibly deflated, staring blankly down at the arena.  “God…dammit.”

“Leet?”  Uber looked at his friend with concern.

“What’s the point, Mike,” Leet asked listlessly.  “What’s the…nothing ever goes right anymore.  So, why even bother?”

Uber opened his mouth to refute his friend’s defeated statement, but found, to his own dismay, that he didn’t know how to answer that.  Slowly, the man of a thousand skills found that he too was starting to despair.

Then, down below, with the low buzz of electronics coming to life, the mechanical dragon shifted.  For a moment, nothing happened, then, with a lurch, the dragon forced itself upright.  Throwing back its head, the bestial machine unleashed an ear-piercing shriek of triumph, before hunching over and going still, its eyes blinking in an irregular test pattern.

Scrambling to his feet, Leet could hardly believe his eyes.  His machine was alive!  Well, not _alive_ , but it was working again.  Jumping down to the dusty concrete of the arena floor, the costumed tinker ran up to the idling robot, unheading of Uber’s worried calls.  Slowly raising a hand in wonder, Leet placed it against the warm skin of the false dragon’s side.  As he felt the warm throbbing thrum beneath his palm, the tinker only peripherally noted Uber’s presence next to him.

A thump, not unlike the trunk of a car being closed, drew Leet’s attention to the dragon’s other side, where X was stepping back from the robot dragon’s ribcage.  It was but a moment for Leet’s mind to make the connection between pleased dusting of hands, the inbuilt access panel there, and the animatronic’s sudden rejuvenation.

“How,” Leet began, before he had to stop and swallow, his throat suddenly dry.  “How’d you get it to work?”

The blue armored tinker looked at Leet before gesturing up at the robot.  “Well, you had several burnt-out lines and components, a power surge by the looks of it.  It was just a matter of futzing about with the CPU, well what I think is the CPU,” X muttered.  “and bypassing the weapons systems.  Of course, it wouldn’t have needed any of that if you’d put in surge protectors and redundant lines.”  The blue-armored tinker paused.  “It’s a great prototype, don’t get me wrong,” X assured quickly.  “But honestly there’s a lot of room for improvement for the next one.”

Leet stood there, staring at the blue-armored tinker, his lips moving soundlessly as he repeated X’s words in his head.  Then, like the proverbial lightbulb, Leet’s eyes lit up with revelation.

“That’s it!”  Spinning around, Leet grabbed Uber by the biceps, his expression manic.  “Mike!  I’m not a one-off tinker!  Well, I am,” he corrected off hand, drifting off before snapping back on topic.  “But that’s not the point.  I’m a prototype tinker!”  Spinning Uber around, the manic tinker squeezed him close and pointed at the robotic dragon, a frenzied light in his eyes.  “That’s why nothing works!  Anything after the first model, those are test models, they’re not prototypes anymore!  And prototypes only have to work once!”

Dropping Uber to the ground, Leet ran off, cackling madly as he leapt over the arena walls.  “I have so many ideas!”

For a moment Uber could only lay there, blinking dazedly.  Then Leet’s words finally sunk in, and he shot up with a curse.  “Oh dammit!”

Jumping to his feet, Uber turned to a bemused X.  “Look, thank you for…whatever it was you told Leet, but I got to go stop him before he cannibalizes the X-Box to make another BFG.”  He turned to away.  “Or worse.”  Leaping into the air, Uber bounded away, his armored exoskeleton taking him to the top of the wall of containers in only two leaps.

“Hey, wait,” X called.  “What about the dragon?”

Uber paused, dithering for a moment before coming to a decision.  “Keep it!”

And with that, the thinker jumped down and disappeared.

Staring at the top of the makeshift arena wall, X slowly turned to face the idling robot dragon.  “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

* * *

  


> **March 15, 2011:**

It was a haggard and bedraggled Steve that staggered blearily out of his tinker lab, hair wild and eyes bloodshot.  Slowly, he wandered into the living room of the lair, slowly sinking onto the ragged sofa next to Mike.  “Dude…what day is it?”

“It’s March fifteenth,” Mike finally replied, looking Steve over with worry.  “You’ve been in there for almost three weeks.”

“Huh,” Steve muttered, staring blankly at the TV, unseeing of the bright and colorful cartoons on it.  “Didn’t feel that long.”

“Dude,” Mike worried anxiously.  “You weren’t eating, you were barely drinking.  I had to liquify everything in the blender and put it in front of you with a straw.”

“Huh,” Steve repeated eloquently, smacking his lips together questioningly.  “That explains the taste in my mouth.”

“Are, are you sure you’re alright,” Mike asked, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve answered distractedly.  “Just…coming down.”  He smacked his lips.  “Is this what you feel like after a run?”

“I…guess,” was the unsure response.  “I’ve never tinkered, so…”

“Huh.”

“What exactly were you doing in there, anyways?”

A manic grin crossed Steve’s face.  “So much.  Sooo much.”  The smile softened into a thoughtful expression.  “I think I might owe X a favor.  Maybe two.”

More than slightly unnerved, Mike leaned away from the man more commonly known as Leet.  “Right.  Well, why don’t you tell me more after you take a shower?”

Steve stared off into space for a moment before nodding slowly.  “Yeah, yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”  Laboriously, the overweight man stood up and shuffled out of the room, the scuffing of his feet slowly fading as he made his way down the hall.

Mike turned back to his cartoons, only to realize that the picture had dissolved into static at some point.  Scowling, the blond man grabbed the remote and started flipping channels.  To his bewilderment, however, the TV was unresponsive, the screen remaining obstinately static-filled.  “What the hell?  Did we forget the cable bill again?”

“Mike,” Steve called from the hall.  “Mike?  You should see this.”

Grumbling to himself, Mike stood up and turned off the TV, jabbing the remote’s power button harshly before tossing it on the couch.  Walking into the hall, Mike saw Steve standing at the window there and went to join him.  "Alright, what am I looking at?"

His tubby friend simply pointed out the window.

Shaking his head, Mike turned to look out the window and froze.  Across the harbor, clearly visible from their hideout atop a hill, thick oily smoke billowed out from the dockyards.

“Uber.”

“Yes Leet?”

“Isn’t that X’s place?”

Uber thought, then slowly nodded.  “Yes…yes, I think it is.”

The two men turned to look at each other.

Leet turned around, walking quickly down the hall towards his room.  “I’ll get the radio!”

“You take a shower, _I’ll_ get the radio,” Uber corrected.  “Meet me on the roof in ten minutes.  I should have it set up by then.”

“Roger!”

With that, Uber ran towards the garage.  Hopefully the radio hadn’t been victim to Leet’s tinker binge.

Fifteen minutes later, Uber was standing at the edge of the roof, staring through a pair of tinkered binoculars left over from a planned but never scheduled stunt.  Nearby, Leet fiddled with the oversized radio, occasionally running a hand through his still damp hair.

“Lessee…upside-down flag, smoking oil barrels…a _lot_ of smoking barrels,” Uber observed.  “Yup those are distress signals alright.”  The taller man lowered his binoculars and turned to his friend.  “Any luck getting through the jamming?”

Leet shook his head.  “No, but I did manage to track the source.”  He pointed at the smoke across the harbor.  “It’s in there somewhere.”

“Well,” Uber replied.  “Looks like we’ll be able to repay that favor sooner than expected.  So, how we doing this?”

The shorter man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “I was thinking Metal Gear.”

“Ooh, excellent choice Leet.”

“Thank you, Uber.”

Uber turned to his friend, worry etched on his face.  “You sure you up for this?”

“Yeah,” Leet said, pulling a nutrient bar in a green-mushroom-marked silver wrapper and waving it at Uber.  “I’ve still got a few 1-Up bars.  I’ll crash once everything is said and done, but these should keep me going until then.”

“Okay then,” Uber said with a reluctant sigh of relief.  A moment later, a sly grin crossed his face.  “Dibs on Raiden.”

“Dibs on-” Leet froze as he processed what Uber had said. “Dammit!”


	34. Resolution 6:1

Taylor let out a sigh as she entered her office at the factory.  Flopping down in her seat, she pulled down her cloth facemask before drawing her hands down her cheeks with a heavy sigh. 

God.  What a day.

The desktop computer flared to life, and Lan’s face appeared on the screen, his expression subdued.  “How were the funerals?”

Taking off her helmet with another sigh, Taylor set it on her lap.  She ran a hand over the helmet, the surface carefully polished and buffed and the color set to a somber dark grey.

Setting the helmet on the desk, Taylor leaned back, slumping into her seat.  “Officer Dvoritz’s widow slapped me.  My fault he was dead, she said.”  Taylor sighed, staring up at the ceiling.  “Part of me can’t help but agree.”

“Mom…,” Lan began, only to pause and try again.  “Mom, you couldn’t have known.  Nobody could have expected the firepower those mercenaries were packing.”

“I know, Lan, I know.”  Taylor huffed, puffing out her cheeks as she sat back up.  “But a part of me wonders if I could have done something differently.”  She looked down, clenching her flesh and blood hand into a fist until it started to hurt.  “Could I have acted sooner?  Should I not have reported it, took matters into my own hands first?”  She squeezed her hand tighter and then released it with yet another sigh.  “I don’t have those answers, Lan.  I doubt I ever will.”

Lan was silent, only the faint whirring of cooling fans filling the air. 

Shaking her head, Taylor pulled her chair up to the desk.  “That’s… I think that’s enough of such thoughts for now.  Come on, we’ve got work to do.” 

Grabbing the VR headset, Taylor slipped it onto her head, and a moment later, she stood next to Lan in flat landscape of black squares and green gridlines. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for the day?” Lan asked.

Silently, Taylor reached out to the side, grabbed a folder that hadn’t been there a moment before out of the air, and flicked her wrist.  The folder went fluttering out in front of them before suddenly ballooning out into a glowing, wireframe rendition of a flatbed semi-trailer with five small hydraulic cranes facing the rear, spaced out along the trailer’s center line.

“Huh.  Is that the ride armor carrier you’ve been working on?” Lan questioned, walking up to the wireframe structure and peering at it closely.

“Yes,” Taylor answered simply, distracted as she was by fiddling with a floating dashboard, manipulating the parameters of her design.  “It’s not as far as I’d like it to be, what with everything that’s been going on these last few days, but it’s coming along.”

“Huh,” was Lan’s less than articulate response.  “How’s it work?”

“Well.”  Looking down at the digital dashboard, Taylor flicked a glowing switch.  “There were a few iterations before this, but this one started out as a sidelifter trailer that I mashed together with a vehicle carrier.” 

Lan’s face scrunched up quizzically.  “Sidelifter?”  A moment later, his eyes went blank as he used his search function.  “Sidelifter: a specialized vehicle or semi-trailer used to hoist and transport ISO standard intermodal containers over longer distances,” he read out loud. 

Smiling as Lan’s eyes blinked back to normal, Taylor opened a wire-frame model of a ride armor next to the trailer.  “That’s right.  Of course, the standard design needed some tweaking, seeing as I’m not building this for bulk containers.”  Fiddling with the digital keyboard, Taylor made the wireframe cranes flash yellow.  “The stock cranes didn’t really work right in simulations, so I swapped those out for some heavy duty, six-axis robotic arms.” 

Clicking a button on the dashboard, Taylor started up a simulation.  The robotic arm closest to the rendered ride armor came to life, reaching out to the mech suit.  The arm twisted, orienting the boxy plug on the end of the arm so that it pressed perfectly into a slot on the back of the ride armor.  There was a loud click, and then the arm flexed, hauling the ride armor up onto the trailer, where it locked in place facing the rear.

“So, as you can see,” Taylor explained, halting the simulation.  “The robot arm plugs into the back of the ride armor and puts it on the trailer, where it’s then locked in place.”  She sighed, rubbing her face in irritation.  “Unfortunately, that’s the easy part.  The hard part is figuring out how to work the controls.  I want this to be usable with any semi-trailer rig, so the crane controls will have to be integrated on the trailer.  I also want the ride armor’s pilot to be able to disengage the plug from inside the armor, you know, in case of emergencies.”  Taylor grimaced.  “ _Then_ , there’s the backwards compatibility issue; older models of ride armor won’t have the plug-slot or the controls for the crane, so I have to figure out a fix for that.”

Lan watched as the wireframe trailer and ride armor collapsed, condensing down into a manila folder that landed in his mother’s outstretched hand.  “So…” he ventured.  “It’s done, but it’s also not done?”

Taylor hummed, then brought her hand up and waggled it in a ‘so-so’ motion.  “More or less.”  She looked at Lan.  “How about you, what have you been up to?”  A chagrined look crossed Taylor’s face.  “I’m…I’m sorry, Lan.  I haven’t paid you much attention these last few days.  You or your siblings,” she muttered.  “God, I’m a terrible mother.”

She was taken aback when Lan crashed into her sides, his face digging into her ribs as he squeezed her in a tight hug.  “No, you’re not!”

“You’re a great mother,” Iris cried as she clamped onto Taylor from the other side. 

“You’ve just been having a few rough days,” Lan continued. 

Iris nodded, her face still buried in Taylor’s ribs.  “We understand.  You just needed some time to come to grips with things.”

Sniffing, Taylor knelt down and hugged her two digital children.  “You guys are too good to me.”  After a long moment, she glanced at Iris.  “So, how long were you watching?”

“From the beginning,” the disembodied Reploid muttered into Taylor’s side.  “I did not wish to interrupt.”

Sitting cross-legged on the green-gridded floor, Taylor pulled Iris close.  “Oh, Iris.  You don’t have to hide.  I won’t mind.”  Grinning, she turned to the side and pulled Lan in close as well.  “Same goes for you, Lan.”

Chuckling, the two AI snuggled in close, and they sat they in a comfortable silence for a bit.

Eventually, though, Lan spoke up.  “So, uh, you wanted to see what I was up to?”

Smiling, Taylor scratched the top of his head.  “Yeah, let’s see it.”

Whooping with glee, Lan got up and ran over to the digital dashboard still hovering in the center of the grid, a giggling Iris jumping up to join him.  Her smile growing larger, Taylor got up and followed.

Seemingly pushing random buttons and switches on the dashboard, Lan looked up and beamed at his mother.  “Ta-da!”

With a flash of light, six figures materialized on the grid field. 

Taylor couldn’t help but have a smile cross her face.  “Are those new Pantheon designs?”

Bouncing with excitement, Lan nodded vigorously.  “Yup!  Iris and I worked on them together!”  Iris smiled shyly, nodding in agreement.

Chuckling lightly, Taylor gestured at the Pantheon models.  “Well then, why don’t you two show me what you’ve got.”

Beaming brightly, Lan and Iris each took one of Taylor’s hand and led her to the first Pantheon.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a standard Pantheon model, what Taylor had started referring to as Pantheon Hunters.  However, what separated this Pantheon from its Hunter brethren was the orange pack on its back with two stubby white wings jutting out to the side.

“We call this the Pantheon Flyer,” Lan explained.  “We took scans from the Dragonsuit that Tess left here after the Dragonslayer attack, and used the data to come up with our own flight systems!  Now we’ll have Pantheon’s that can fly!”

Taylor nodded slowly.  She’d honestly forgot about that Dragonsuit.  It was the one Dragon – Tess – had been piloting when the Dragonslayer attack had begun.  It had been left on the workbench-cum-operating table when Tess had been downloaded into her new Reploid body, and had promptly been forgot about.  Taylor blinked.  Tess never did come back for it, did she?

A thought occurred to Taylor then.  “Did you guys ask Tess permission to use her designs?”  The awkward silence and abashed shuffling of feet was all the answer Taylor needed.  Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose.  “In the future, guys, make sure to ask the Tinker in question before you crib their designs.  It’s bad form.”  She smiled reassuringly at Lan and Iris.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this one, but in the future…”  She trailed off, doing her best to give that look her own mother used to give, the one that said ‘you know what to do.  Don’t make me repeat myself.’

Clapping her hands, Taylor smiled.  “So, shall we continue?”

Bashfully, Iris took Taylor’s hand again and pulled her to the next Pantheon. 

Bulky and hunchbacked, the purple Pantheon was heavily armored, looking more like a walking tank than anything humanoid.  It bore a thick, yellow riot shield in the right hand, while the left was replaced with a mechanism attached by sturdy chain to a hefty, spiked flail.

“This is the Pantheon Hammer,” Iris introduced softly.  “The fight against the Dragonslayer known as Dobrynja highlighted the need for a Pantheon that could take heavy punishment and remain functional.”

Taylor nodded appreciatively.  “Yes, I can see how these would have been helpful.  But I’m not so sure about that flail.

Lan shrugged.  “Eh, we can always replace that with a neural disruptor or a buster gun.”  He looked at the next Pantheon, a green model with a massive claw replacing the left arm.  “Erm…maybe we should revisit that one.”  With a flicker of light, the green Pantheon vanished into a cloud of bits, leaving only five simulated Pantheons.

Clearing his throat, Lan walked past the now conspicuous gap between Pantheons to the next model.  Unwieldy and bulky, it had a bulbous, spherical yellow body, with blue, duck-like feet and pyramidal spikes instead of hands.  Two large vents sat on the bulky shoulders, and similar, smaller vents were dotted across the body in strategic locations.

“This is the Pantheon Aqua,” the NetNavi introduced.  “I think the name’s self-explanatory.”

“So,” Taylor began with an impish smile.  “It burrows through the ground?”

“What? No!” Lan exclaimed, appalled.  “It swims!  It’s got harpoon launchers for hands!  It’s meant for underwater salvaging, search and rescue, and, and…”  He stared at Taylor, his eyes narrowing at his mother.  “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

The smile that threatened to break out across Taylor’s face broke out.  “Maybe~.”

Pouting, Lan turned away and crossed his arms.  “Mean.”

Snorting, Iris gave Lan a gentle shove.  “It was humourous, and you know it.” 

Lan just pouted harder, and Iris gave up with a shrug.  Eventually though, Lan sagged and scratched at his cheek.  “Yeah, okay, that was kind of funny.”

Chuckling, Taylor moved on to the next Pantheon.  She paused, taking in the orange body and the two massive, oversized blue fists.  “Call me crazy, but this looks like an upgrade on the Pantheon Warrior design.”

“It is,” Iris affirmed.  “The warrior design is unfortunately lopsided and unwieldy.  Lan calls this the Pantheon Fist, and I can’t say that it is not inappropriate.”

Taylor stepped closer, inspecting the Pantheon closely.  “So, how’d you guys get past the weight issue?”

“Well, we sorta didn’t,” Lan hazarded.  “We just strengthened the frame, beefed up the hydraulics, and put rocket nozzles in the arms so that it can actually punch.”  He shrugged.  “I figure we can also use them for construction and heavy lifting stuff where the ride armors won’t fit.”

“Huh.  Good thinking,” Taylor praised.  The Pantheon Fist would probably be rather slow and cumbersome, but then it wouldn’t need to be very fast, would it?

Lost in thought, Taylor glanced at the last Pantheon in the line.  “Uh, kiddos?” Taylor questioned as she did a double-take.  “Did you pull up the wrong file?  This looks like a Pantheon Launcher without its plasma cannon.”

“Not quite, mother,” Iris corrected.

“Yeah,” Lan chimed in.  “This is the Pantheon Bomber: it’s got grenades, so it’s totally different.”

“While it is true that we used the Pantheon Launcher as a base, the internals are completely different,” Iris lectured.  “The hydraulics and artificial muscles were revamped for explosive movements as opposed to bracing and stability.  Furthermore, while it is not yet complete, we have been compiling a new OS utilizing a database of kinesiology and ballistic physics, to more efficiently utilize the weapons it is equipped with and to minimize collateral.”

Lan hiked a thumb over his shoulder at Iris.  “What she said.”

“We’re hoping the Bomber-model Pantheon will bridge the gap of mobility and firepower between the Pantheon Hunters and Pantheon Launchers,” Iris concluded succinctly.

“Hmm…”  Humming absently, Taylor looked over the Pantheon design.  “Not bad, not bad.  You might want to rethink the name, though.  Bomber can have some unfortunate connotations.  Maybe use Grenadier instead?”  She scratched her chin.  “Come to think of it, that does fit better, because I can think of a lot of applications for an advanced…”

Slowly, Taylor reached out and took the Pantheon’s head in her hands, the model’s body fuzzing out a few moments later.  Holding the Pantheon head one-handed by the base of the CPU case, Taylor stared at the disembodied robotic skull.  A moment later, she reached out with her free hand and plucked a manila folder out of thin air.  Bringing the two together in front of her, Taylor considered the two objects carefully.

“I think…I have an idea.”


	35. Resolution 6:2

Baryl, in his Colonel armor, watched as a military Humvee pulled into the factory yard, followed behind by a military semi-cab pulling a flatbed carrying a tarp-covered cargo.  He stood dispassionately as the Humvee parked, the semi-cab coming to an idle a short distance away.

A man in green camouflage fatigues stepped out the passenger door, and Colonel’s tactical sub-routines came to life, analyzing the man.  An age of approximately thirty to forty years old, of African-American descent.  Bald, cleanshaven.  Uniform: United States Army, clean, with the railroad track double-bar captain insignias on the collar and hat, the patch for the Ellisburg Containment Garrison on the shoulder.  Conclusion: the first batch of Army pilots had arrived for training.

The Army captain came to a stop before Baryl and saluted.  “Captain Anderson, United States Army, Ellisburg Containment Garrison,” the captain introduced, with a curiously British accent.

Baryl returned the salute, a crisp mirror to the Army captain.  “I am Colonel,” he introduced in turn, offering a hand.

“Colonel, eh,” Captain Anderson ventured, reaching up to accept the handshake.  Though he was far from short, Colonel towered over him by a good head or two.  “Seems you outrank me,” the dark-skinned man quipped.

“Only informally,” Baryl replied, dropping the handshake.  “I do not claim any actual military rank.  I took the title in light of the fact that I command the security force here, and that I myself am ultimately under the command of X.  The colonel to X’s general, if you would.”

“Fair enough,” Anderson allowed, standing at ease.  He waved at the Humvee and the idling semi.  “I have four volunteers with me for today’s training.  Colonel O’Reilly has also sent a shipment of weapons he would like installed into the Ride Armors ordered for the Garrison.  Nothing against your boss,” the captain assured.  “But we have to have a certain amount of uniformity in our weapons systems.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Colonel agreed.  “If you have your driver pull around to the back loading-bay, someone shall be able to direct him where to unload.”

Nodding, Captain Anderson walked over to the semi-rig, exchanging words with the driver.  With a hiss of pneumatics, the truck pulled away, and Anderson returned to Colonel. 

As the truck and trailer turned the corner, Colonel gestured with his free hand, the one not holding his cane-sword.  “Now, if you’ll collect your men, the training hall is this way.”

“Thank you.”  Anderson turned and stuck two fingers in his mouth, an earsplitting whistle piercing the air.  As Colonel’s audio receptors readjusted from the sharp sound, the Humvee disgorged four soldiers in forest camo, three men and a woman. 

As the four joined them, Colonel made to gesture with his cane, only to pause as a fire engine pulled up and parked next to the Humvee.  “Ah, it seems the trainees from the fire department are here.”

Sending a signal over the command network, Colonel tapped his cane twice against the ground for theatricality’s sake.  A beam of light shot down from the sky, resolving into a kneeling Pantheon unit.

Colonel gestured to the Pantheon as it stood upright.  “This Pantheon unit will show you to the classroom.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go greet the latest arrivals.”  Facing Captain Anderson, Colonel saluted.  “Captain.”

Smiling wryly, Anderson snapped to attention and returned the salute.  “Colonel.”

With that, Colonel left to go greet the newly arrived firefighters, leaving the soldiers in the Pantheon unit’s care.  However, he did keep an eye on the soldiers through the Pantheon’s main camera, just in case.

* * *

 

Taylor hummed to herself as she rummaged around elbow deep in the innards of some machinery.  She was taking a break from her work on the Ride Armor carrier, and rightly so.  She’d nearly welded herself to the prototype, for crying out loud.

Pulling out a length of twisted, blackened metal, Taylor grunted and peered closely into the hole she’d been digging in.  Leet made good tech, but by God, it was not built to last.  Or to be repaired, really.  Still, she was making progress.

Looking over the ruined piece in her hands, Taylor mentally un-twisted it and sketched out a replacement on a CAD program in her HUD.  Comparing the two, she decided that it would do, and queued up her 3D printer to print a replacement.  Once the new part was finished, she’d refine the shape with a grinder and slot it into place.

It was amazing how easy it was to build a 3D printer that was metals-compatible.  Pity it didn’t work with ceratanium, though.

“Kyah!”

Pausing, Taylor turned her head to stare at the curtain blocking off the workspace from the rest of her workshop.  _‘What was that?’_

“Kyah!”

There was another shout, followed by a muffled thump, and Taylor relaxed as she recognized the sound.  ‘ _Oh, it’s just Alpha.’_

The thumping was also recognized quickly.  Colonel had set up a sort of training spot in one corner of the workshop, which included a sparring dummy, a fencing dummy, and a heavy-duty punching bag.  From the thumping, it sounded like Alpha was putting the bag through its paces.

Nodding to herself, Taylor checked the 3D printer’s progress, then turned her attention back to the exposed mechanics before her.  Pulling an armature with attached spotlight down from the gantries above, Taylor peered into the guts of the machine.  Spotting another damaged component, she pushed the spotlight aside and started to reach into the machine.

“KYAH!” _PEW-crackle!_

Taylor sighed as the workshop was plunged into darkness.  Counting to ten, she turned to the curtain just visible through the inky blackness.  “Dang it, Alpha!  No weapons fire in the workshop!”

“Sorry!  Sorry, my fault!”

* * *

 

Watching the last of the trainees settle in, Colonel connected to the Pantheon drone by the door and had it dim the lights.  Once the trailer being used as a classroom was sufficiently dim, the Reploid activated the projector bolted to the ceiling.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first Ride Armor pilot certification training session,” Colonel began, standing at the front of the room in the white square of light produced by the projector.  “Here you will learn how to operate and maintain a Ride Armor mechanized walker unit.  We have members of BBPD, BBFD, the PRT, and the military here in attendance, so please, do try to get along.” 

Taking the resulting chuckles in stride, Colonel stepped out of the projector’s light and started the prepared presentation.  “The Ride Armor system is a multipurpose mechanized vehicle, designed to protect the operator within a number of hazardous environs.”

The projector flickered, and a video clip, filmed during the product demonstration several days before, began to play.  It showed a burning building, a derelict warehouse scheduled for demolition.  The fires roared, a conflagration that nothing should be able to survive.  Yet, as the clip progressed, a shadow appeared in the raging flames, and a cherry-red ride armor stomped out of the fires, not even a single speck of soot marring the paint. 

“Thanks to the use of a powerful environmental protection field, the Ride Armor system can survive, and even thrive in situations that are inimical to life and machinery.  Even should the EPF fail, a secondary EPF will protect the pilot while heavy armour will protect the Ride Armor itself.  Enclosed cockpits are also an option for more hazardous environs.”

The clip shrunk down and continued to play in the corner, and a new clip began to play.  A ride armor in black and white waded through automatic gunfire, sparks flying from a mostly unseen energy shield, then the clip shrunk down and continued to play in a random spot while a new clip started.  A ride armor being crushed under a falling shipping container only to walk out through the side.  A Ride Armor shrugging off a pile of dynamite exploding underfoot.  The point of view of a Ride Armor pilot as a truck crashes into the Ride Armor at speed and simply bounces off the glacis plate.  A Ride Armor walking out of the water, the human pilot not even wearing a snorkel in the open cockpit.  All these clips and more played out before shrinking down to a random part of the screen, until the projected screen was a mosaic of moving images.

The projection faded to white, and Colonel stepped back into the square of light.  “Today, we will be learning the operation of a Ride Armor’s controls.  Once you have proved to have an adequate grasp on the intricacies thereof, we shall move on to practical -*”

_[BWEW! BWEW! BWEW!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGbru76Hddg) _

* * *

 

With a final solder and a flick of a switch, the lights came back on.  Closing the newly repaired fuse box, Taylor turned to Alpha.  “So, what did we learn?”

Alpha tapped the tips of his pointer fingers together.  “Guns are an outdoor toy.”

Expression flat, Taylor only just resisted facepalming.  “Not quite.  Guns are not-*”

_BWEW!  BWEW!  BWEW!_

Cursing as a blaring siren filled the workshop with an electronic wailing and strobing flashes of red light, Taylor ran back to her workspace and slammed her helmet onto her head.  “Report!  What’s going on?” she demanded, activating the radio as she cinched the helmet in place.

<<This is Samson at the west fence,>> came the response from one of the dockworkers turned roaming security.  <<I just had three giant lizard rhinos jump the fence and—LUNG!  HOLY FUCK IT’S – _Kshshshshshshhh-* >>_

<<This is Command and Control,>> Iris’ voice crackled over the radio.  <<Mobilizing the Pantheons now.  Be advised, Lung is known to become more draconic as a conflict progresses.  Expect heat and fire hazards.>>

<<This is Colonel, I am moving the VIPs to the shelters.  I will assist when able.>>

<<This is Jose.  I have eyes on Samson.  He’s burnt bad, but he’s conscious.  The fence is gone, there’s just a pile of slag left, and – Madre de Dios, there’s footprints melted into the road!>>

As the radio became a cacophony of reports and exclamations, Taylor cursed.  One quiet day, was that too much to ask for?  She glanced at the machinery she’d been working on, the parts strewn across the workspace.  ‘ _That would have been perfect for this, too._ ’

Mind racing, Taylor turned to Alpha.  “Alpha, I need you to…Alpha?”  She looked around in confusion, but the Pantheon-turned-Reploid was nowhere to be found.  “Where did -?”

_CRASH!_

Turning, Taylor was treated to the sight of a hole in one of the walls.  A hole that was suspiciously human-shaped.

“Dammit Alpha!  We have doors for a _reason!_ ”

* * *

 

“I will assist when able.”  Dropping his hand away from the side of his helmet, Colonel mentally turned away from the radio and physically turned to the Ride Armor trainees, the strobing red of the alarm casting them all in an eerie light.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a cape fight has spilled into the dockyard,” the Reploid explained to the room. 

One of the trainees, a burly firefighter who looked like he literally ate gravel for breakfast, snorted.  “Please, that’s just another Tuesday here in Brockton Bay.  How bad could it be?”

Colonel stared the man down, an unamused expression on his face.  “Lung.”

The firefighter blinked.  “Oh.  Well, shit.”

“I realize that you are all no strangers to danger,” Colonel placated as he strode to the door.  “However, you are all our guests here.  As such, your safety is among our top priorities.” 

Opening the door, Colonel lead the trainees out of the trailer, where a squad of six Pantheon Hunters awaited them.  Accompanying his orders broadcast over the command net, Colonel gestured sharply at the Pantheons, dividing them into groups of two.  He turned to the trainees.  “Follow me, stay in the group.  If you do get separated, stay put, a Pantheon will find you and escort you to safety.  This way.”

Turning on his heel, Colonel began to lead the trainees to the nearest shelter, the Pantheons taking up positions to the sides and the rear.

* * *

 

Danny cursed as the familiar klaxon of the warning sirens wailed.  So much for surprising Taylor with lunch.  Turning the pickup truck off the main road, he started for the nearest shelter, only to slam on the brakes as three mutant … lizard things barreled across the road from between two warehouses.

As the two warehouses exploded out across the street in a storm of fire and glimpses of sliver scales, Danny decided that maybe he should try a different shelter.  Putting the truck into reverse, he mentally went over the location of the shelters and panic rooms in the dockyards. 

The closest, well, that was no longer an option, all things considering.  But the next closest shelter was a panic room in the Ride Armor storage building, what the dockworkers and technicians had taken to calling the Hangar. 

Course of action decided, Danny turned back onto the main road and put the truck back into drive.  Now, if only this route wouldn’t decide to spontaneously explode as well.

* * *

 

Lisa Wilbourn was not having a good day.  First off, she’d had a low-key headache for _days,_ thanks to her employer (if you could call a man with a gun to your head such a thing) demanding near constant analysis of various things.  Then this morning, she’d found that Alec, the fop, had drank all the milk and then left the empty carton in the fridge.  And he’d used the last of the hot water, which was just adding insult to injury.  _Then,_ Coil had called with a job.  The bastard.

If she ever had the chance, Lisa would gladly take a page from Vlad the Impaler’s book and find a nice, pointy lamppost for Coil to sit on.  Maybe find one for Brian too, come to think of it.

Now, dressed in the domino mask and lavender bodysuit of her Tattletale persona, Lisa was currently riding one of Rachel’s mutant dogs, clutching a bone spur for dear life as a rage dragon tried to murder them all in a most messy and painful manner.  One that probably involved fire somehow.

Damn Coil for suggesting the Undersiders poke the dragon, and damn Brian for agreeing to it!  For the man who was supposed to be in charge of their little villain gang, he was surprisingly un-leaderlike, being far to eager to please their ‘backer.’

An enraged roar brought Lisa back to the present and she peeked over her shoulder.  Oh, Lung was getting big.  Nearly completely covered in silver scales too.

Turning back forward, Lisa looked ahead, skull pounding as her head went into overdrive.  As much as she wanted to stop and let her poor head rest, her thinker power was currently the only thing keeping her and the other Undersiders from taking a wrong turn.

“We got robots coming in from the right,” Alec called from atop his mutant dog, the foppish brunette dressed in his Regent costume consisting of a ruffled white dress shirt, domino mask, and a taser shaped to look like a golden scepter.

“Which way are we going, Tattletale?” Brian called from the lead dog, his skull-painted black motorcycle helmet looking at her over his shoulder, his leather jacket flapping in the wind.  Black smoke, the aethereal fog that lent him the name of Grue, leaked from the cracks and vents of the helmet, leaving an eerie trail.

Lisa clenched her eyes shut, fighting the increased pounding in her temples as her powers went into overdrive.

> _X’s robots are to the right.  Physically, not strong enough to stop the dogs from barreling through, but those neural disruptors of theirs could potentially trip them.  Not to mention the plasma guns.  Increased sounds of heavy footfalls from that direction indicate incoming reinforcements.  Possibly several Ride Armor mechs.  Turning right; unfeasible._
> 
> _X’s workshop dead ahead.  Density of resistance sure to climb the closer we get.  Can’t keep going that way._
> 
> _Two paths to the left up ahead.  First path shows a lack of use; potential dead end.  Second path shows considerable wear and tear, indicates regular heavy traffic.  No sounds indicating incoming Pantheon drones._

“Second left,” Lisa called.  “Second left!”

The broad-shouldered brunette sat in front of Brian grunted.  Rachel – or as she preferred, ‘Bitch’ – whistled and nudged a knee against her dog, and the mutated canine slid into a sharp turn down, the two dogs behind rebounding off a warehouse wall as they followed.

Lisa immediately let out a stream of curses as the dogs scrabbled to a halt, a massive sinkhole surrounded by construction equipment blocking the road completely.  Even without her power screaming it at her, Lisa could tell the sinkhole was too wide for the dogs to jump, and too deep to climb before Lung caught up.  If they tried, all the man-turned-dragon would have to do would be to fill the pit with fire. 

It seemed Brian realized this too.  “Turn around!  Back the other way!”

Rachel wheeled her dog around, only to freeze in place.  Thudding, earth-shaking footsteps on asphalt and claws grinding on brickwork sounding behind Lisa spelled out why.

> _Lung is right behind you._

Lisa raged against her power.  _‘No shit Sherlock!’_

> _You’re going to die._

Fighting back tears, both at the unfairness of it all and the rapidly mounting headache pounding behind her eyes, Lisa turned around to get her first good look at Lung.

He was barely recognizable as human now.  His skin, covered in silver scales, rippled over inhumanly taut muscles.  His arms, tipped with claws the size of small bananas, dangled down below his knees, his ankles long gone digitigrade.  A long sinuous tail lashed behind him, snapping like a whip.  His neck, already thick and meaty as a human, was even thicker and meatier and showed signs that it was starting to lengthen.  His face though, it was still disturbingly _human,_ save for the ears melting into his skull and the lower jaw splitting into two mandibles.  His eyes were the worst, slit pupiled and full of fire.

And he was _pissed._

Desperate for something, anything to get them out of the situation the Undersiders found themselves in, Lisa ‘opened’ her power up as far as she could.

> _Incoming projectile; 9 O’clock high._

With the pounding in her head reached a crescendo, Lisa watched as a fiery comet smashed into Lung from above.

As the comet fell to earth and began to resolve into a blurry figure, Lisa passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're all caught up to what's posted on Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity. I hope you've enjoyed what I have so far, and what I've yet to type. 
> 
> So, read and review, your words feed my muse.


	36. Resolution 6:3

Embers floated around Alpha as he stood, his black visor glinting dangerously.  His arm snapped out to the side, dispersing the sparks like a swarm of disturbed fireflies.  He stood there like that, lit up by the flames licking off of Lung, as he stood between the Undersiders and the dragon.

Then, Alpha let out a little ‘squee’, and promptly fangirled.  “Ohmygosh, it’s a _dragon!”_

Behind Alpha, the Undersiders stared at Alpha in naked disbelief, somehow unable to comprehend that a man in heavy armor was doing a little dance of glee at seeing the fiery embodiment of death looming above them.  Well, except for Regent.  He burst out laughing so hard, he fell off his dog.

Lung, for his part, stared down at Alpha incredulously, having recovered from the surprise of having a ballistic ‘bot bounce off his bonce.  “A’e ‘ou ‘ucking ‘idding me?” the dragon spat, his words mangled by his split-mandible jaw.

“I have _no_ idea what you just said,” Alpha declared brightly.  “But you need to leave,” he stated, his tone dropping to a serious tenor.  “You are not welcome here.”

Sneering, Lung leaned down and blew a plume of thick, cloying smoke into Alpha’s face.  “And who’s going to make me?” Lung taunted, carefully sounding out the words through his mutated mouth as he reared back.  “’ou?”

Alpha smirked, his visor flashing red.  Reaching over his shoulders, he grasped the handles that sprouted from the modules there and pulled.  With twin pneumatic hisses, the modules came free, unfolding into a pair of massive arm cannons as the heavily armored Reploid brought them to bear.  “Yes,” he replied simply.

[Laughing derisively](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2nHY5sBZiE), Lung lazily slammed his claw down, intending to crush Alpha.

With an excited shout, Alpha backflipped away, a spray of shattered asphalt following.  Landing in a crouch, the Reploid fired his buster cannons; downward.  The street cracking beneath him, Alpha used the massive recoil to launch himself into the air. 

Taken aback, Lung was unable to react in time as Alpha punched him in the face with the muzzle of his cannon and pulled the trigger.  The resulting explosion staggered Lung, his face a horrendous mess of blood and mangled meat. 

Alighting on his feet, Alpha charged forward, arms held straight behind him.

Clutching at his ruined face with one paw, Lung’s ear twitched at the sound of approaching footsteps.  Roaring with rage, the draconic man blindly struck down.

Dodging to the side with an application of his Emergency Acceleration System, Alpha fired a cannon, sending himself shooting forward.  Sliding under a blind swing, the Reploid rolled between Lung’s legs.  Launching himself explosively into the air with both cannons, Alpha aimed the barrels of both cannons at the back of Lung’s head.  He pulled the triggers.

The resulting explosive seemed nearly apocalyptic.  Lung was blinded and deafened, his only-just regrown eyes jellifying and his eardrums bursting from the overpressure.  Knocked out of the air by the recoil, Alpha did a single flip before landing on the street in a crouch, both cannons held out beside him.

Unbalanced, deafened, and blinded, Lung stumbled forward, scattering the Undersiders as he staggered through.  Blundering about, Lung stomped around and clawed blindly at his head and face, only for the ground to suddenly vanish out from under his feet.

Shrieking in surprise, Lung fell straddling the lip of the sinkhole, sliding in and vanishing from view as he flailed ineffectually.

Whooping in wild abandon, Alpha charged forward and leapt in after him, performing a diving elbow drop as he fell out of sight.

Jumping to his feet and thrusting his arms up into the air victoriously, Regent cackled with delight.  “The People’s Elbow!”

The wide grin on Regent’s face went blank as ominous electronic whines filled the air.  “There’s a bunch of robots pointing very scary-looking guns at us, aren’t there?”

Atop Bitch’s dog, Grue resisted the urge to slowly bury the face of his helmet in his hands with a groan.  Instead, he quickly took stock of the situation. 

Tattletale was out cold.  Regent was off his dog and being particularly useless.  Bitch was growling, her cheap, plastic dog mask pushed atop her head to reveal her bared teeth.  Her dogs were still amped up, covered in bone spurs and slabs of bulging muscle. 

Ahead of them, where Lung had been burning previously, an army of humanoid drones were arrayed in a loose formation, the glowing barrels of their arm-cannons unerringly at him and his…compatriots.  Behind the drones, several mech suits stomped into view from around the corner, piloted by burly, angry-looking men and women in hardhats. 

Grue grimaced.  He might be willing to risk the drones, but those mech suits changed things.  Even if they didn’t have the same armaments as the drones, the Ride Armors were still equipped with industrial power tools, and those pilots did _not_ look amused. 

Behind him, the sink hole shuddered, tongues of fire and a plume of smoke and ash exploding up into the air, followed by an enraged roar and hoots of glee. 

Hissing in defeat, Grue put a restraining hand on Bitch’s shoulder.  He then slid off the dog and raised both hands in surrender.  “Stand down.  We’ve lost.”

Bitch snarled, but even she wasn’t willing to risk her dogs against multiple Ride Armors.  With a low whistle, she slid down to the ground and resentfully raised her hands.  Her mount, a cycloptic beast with long limbs, lied down and rested its head on the ground with a deep huff.

Spinning around, arms still held up, Regent gave the gathered Pantheons a beaming smile.  “Hello~.  Take us to your leader?”

Grue ground his teeth.  “God dammit, Regent.”

* * *

 

Pulling to a stop in front of the Hangar, Danny threw the truck into park and hopped out.  It was but the work of moments to input the door code and enter the security door.

As the door shut behind him, Danny surveyed the Hangar.  Ride Armors were arrayed in scattered lines throughout the warehouse, in various states of assembly.  Essentially a very large garage, the Ride Armors received refits and repairs at the Hangar, in addition to being stored there.

Weaving between the rows of Ride Armors, Danny swiftly made his way to the building’s panic room.  A simple metal door set into a concrete box in the middle of the warehouse, it opened to a set of stairs leading down to an old bunker; remnants of Cold War nuclear paranoia.

Striding up to the door, Danny turned the handle – only for the door to remain stubbornly closed.

“Shit.”

_Chunkachunkachunkachunka_

“Dammit.  Locked.”  Stepping back, Danny frowned as he surveyed the door.  “No, not locked.”  The door had to be stuck.  There was no lock; the handle was smooth, and there were no keyholes anywhere.

Sighing, Danny ran his fingers through his thinning hair and looked around.  Maybe he could find something to force the door open. 

There was no shortage of tools to be found in the Hangar, all manner of kit dropped and left in place when the alarms went off.  But still, after several minutes of searching, Danny had to give up.  He’d found hammers, wrenches, drills, and screwdrivers, but… “Not a single crowbar to be found in all of blessed Christendom,” the union man muttered, throwing his hands up in disgust.

Hearing a strange noise, Danny paused.  It sounded like something had hit one of the closed overhead doors.  Frowning, he started making his way over to investigate.

He was taken by surprise when the door was forced upward as armed men swarmed into the building.

* * *

 

Dropping into the seat of her personal Ride Armor, Taylor began the process of crash starting the machine.  It wouldn’t be pretty, and the Armor would need servicing later, but the normal cold-start procedures took too long.  “X here.  Alright, somebody give me a sitrep,” she called over the radio, one hand flipping switches while the other fumbled with the seat restraints. 

<<We’ve figured out who Lung is chasing,>> Lan declared, projecting himself into a window in the corner of Taylor’s HUD.  A series of thumbnails unfolded underneath Lan’s window.  <<They’re known as the Undersiders.  Small time thieves, they mostly hit jewelry stores, pawn shops, and the like.  Not sure why Lung is after them, but…>> Lan trailed off, looking off to the side for a moment. 

<<Um, okay, so CeeEnCee managed to corner the Undersiders by the sinkhole at the old fishery.  Looks like some of the dockworkers gave assistance with their Ride Armors.>>

Taylor paused.  “What?  Are they crazy?  Don’t they know…”  She trailed off.  “What am I saying, of course they are, they’re dockworkers,” the teenager deadpanned.  She sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose.  “What about Lung?”

Lan’s image pursed his lips.  <<He’s contained…more or less.>>

“What does that mean?”

<<Well…>>

* * *

 

Alpha slammed into the crumbling dirt and rock lining the sinkhole, sending a spray of gravel and dust up into the air.  Prying himself from the impression his body left in the wall, the Reploid dropped to the uneven ground.

Bellowing a challenge, Lung breathed flame, an incandescent beam pouring from the furnace of his gullet. 

Roaring with laughter, Alpha slammed both of his arm cannons down on the ground, unleashing a slashing wave of fire.  The two firestorms collided, exploding into a great conflagration.

Charging forward, Lung blew through the blazing holocaust without pause, a single Brobdingnagian fist pulled back.  Cackling with delight, Alpha launched himself explosively forward, his own cannon-wielding fist cocking back in reply.

Scaly fist met cannon-clad fist, the impact shaking several Pantheon units down off their perch at the edge of the sinkhole, where they were swiftly destroyed in the ensuing melee.

\---

“Of course.”  Taylor sighed, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose through her mask.  “Anything else?”

<<Um…>> Lan’s expression grew worried.  <<Oh dear.  Uh, I just checked the shelters, and Grandpa never showed up to any of them.>>

As the Ride Armor rumbled to life beneath her, Taylor grunted.  “Dad’ll be fine.  He knows how to take care of himself.”  _‘I hope.’_

* * *

 

Pressed up against a support column, Danny cursed silently in his head.  First giant dog-lizards, then Lung, now armed men storming the dockyards?  What the hell was going on? 

He peeked out to watch the intruders.

There were at least a dozen men, all in grey fatigues and black body armor.  Their faces were all concealed, be it by ski mask, gas mask, or the tinted visor of a ballistic helmet.  They carried sleek assault rifles, what Danny recognized as M-16s, albeit modified ones.  Some sort of underbarrel attachment and what he thought were silencers, glinting ominously in the light.

“Alright boys, spread out,” one of the armed men ordered, a man with a white skull crudely painted over the face of his balaclava.  “You know what to look for.  Find blueprints, molds, specialized tools.  And remember.

“No witnesses.”

Danny pressed himself back against the column, his mind racing.  Then, his eyes fell on a Ride Armor.

“Oh, this is such a bad idea,” he muttered, quietly pushing off from the column.

Crouching low, Danny stole across the Hangar’s floor.  Ducking behind a rolling toolbox and a battery cart, the union man waited for one of the mercenaries to pass before moving on. 

After several heart-stopping moments in which he was sure he’d been found out, Danny finally reached his goal.

Sidling up to the Ride Armor, heart pounding in his chest, Danny checked to make sure no one was nearby.  Taking a heavy breath, he gave the machine a once over.  It was crouched, a position the machines were programmed to enter upon being powered down.  Both legs attached, both arms attached, one hand replaced with a hydraulic clamp.  No obviously missing pieces.  Danny grimaced.  It’d have to do. 

Casting about once more to make sure no one was there to see him, Danny carefully climbed up the side of the mech, using both the machine’s crouched position and the simple footholds welded to the back of the armor.  Pulling himself over the lip of the open cockpit, Danny flopped headfirst into the cramped seat.

Quietly cursing, Danny struggled to right himself.  It was awkward, the cockpit was confined and restricted, but eventually, he managed to set himself properly in the seat, ready to get the Ride Armor up and running.

To Danny’s surprise, the lights on the dashboard were already lit, the Ride Armor gently pulsating beneath him.  The machine was already on!  _‘The fellas must have been running a power test or something,’_ Danny rationalized. 

Sliding down low in the seat and out of casual view, Danny surveyed the dashboard.  ‘ _Oof…why’d Taylor have to put so many buttons on this thing?’_

Searching about, the balding man found a screen displaying several readouts. 

_‘Let’s see… reactor output: 1%.  Shields…inactive.  Huh, armor integrity,’_ Danny noted.  _‘Wonder how Taylor got that to work.’_ Making a personal note to ask his daughter later, the balding man resumed searching the dashboard.

“Reactor power, reactor power, reactor power,” Danny muttered, eyes following his finger as it trailed along the dash.  “Ah, there.”  Grabbing a slider control, Danny pushed it all the way to full.

Yelping in surprise, Danny grabbed at the dashboard, bracing himself as the Ride Armor lurched.  With a throaty roar, the reactor came fully to life, and the Ride Armor automatically stood up with the whine of servos and hissing hydraulics.

It did not go unnoticed.  Across the Hangar, mercenaries shouted out in alarm.

“What the fuck!?”

“Over there!”

“Stop him!”

Cursing, Danny grabbed the seatbelt and started to strap himself in.  He’d been made.

_Spang!  Kapwing! Neyoom!_

Bullets fired from silenced guns, ricocheting off the Ride Armor’s exterior and snapping through the air past his head made Danny yelp in surprise again.

‘ _Oh shit, they’re shooting at me,’_ Danny realized.  _‘Oh_ shit, _they’re shooting at me!!!’_

Frantically, Danny searched the dashboard, flinching at each _ping_ against the Ride Armor’s hull and each _snap_ hissing past.  “Shit! Shieldsshieldsshieldsshieldsshields - There!”

Slamming a button with almost delirious urgency, Danny watched with palpable relief as a shimmer of air seemed to surround the Ride Armor.

_Bworb bworb bworb_

The shields rippled, bullets smacking into the energy fields and producing a crystalline warping sound.  Checking the readouts revealed that the bullets were barely scratching the shields, and it was with a hysterical giggle that Danny sunk back into his seat.  _‘Oh thank God.’_

Then, the part of Danny that had survived the mass riots years before came to fore, and his nerves steeled.  Leaning forward, the union man grabbed the control armatures and set his feet against the drive pedals. 

“My turn.”

With a feral grin, Danny pulled the armatures back and slammed the pedals forward.

The Ride Armor promptly fell on its face, both feet flying backwards out from under it, and the gunfire ceased immediately.

“Oof.”

Winded by the seat restraints cutting into his shoulders and ribs, Danny stared at the ground in front of him.  “Well, that didn’t work.”

Ignoring the bullets that resumed bouncing off his shields, Danny shifted the control armatures, noting how the Ride Armor’s arms mimicked the movements.  With that in mind, Danny pushed as if to push himself upright, and the Ride Armor responded in kind.

Once the Ride Armor had wobbled to a standing position, Danny looked down at the pedals.  Slowly, he pushed the right pedal forward. 

The Ride Armor lurched, the right foot sliding back.  Bullets continued to bounce off the shields.

Hmm…

Slowly, Danny pushed his right foot back.

As the Ride Armor took a shaky step forward, Danny nodded to himself, setting his sights on the mercenaries.  “Right, let’s try this again.”

With ponderous step after ponderous step, Danny drove his Ride Armor towards the mercenaries. 

Seeing that their rifles were doing no damage, even on full auto, the lead mercenary shifted his grip on his weapon and flipped a switch on the underbarrel attachment.  “Lasers!  Light him up!”

A coruscating bolt of light shot from a lens on the weapon attachment, splashing against the Ride Armor’s shields.  Danny yelped in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in the crook of his elbow, dazzled by the bright laser even as the shield went opaque around the laser terminus. 

As more and more lasers scattered against the Ride Armor’s shield, Danny was effectively rendered blind.  Unable to see past the dazzling lasers, opaque shields, and the visual static caused by the lingering afterimages, Danny turtled up, trying to shield his face from the dazzling lights with the Ride Armor’s arms.

It only partially worked.  Though he was no longer being blinded by the lasers refracting off the shields, Danny’s vision was still impaired by the lingering aftershadows and the ‘fogging’ shields.  Groping blindly, Danny picked up a rolling toolbox and threw it bodily in the mercenaries’ direction.

It was a terrible throw, one that most of the gunmen saw coming and sidestepped accordingly before resuming fire, if they even stopped.  However, one mercenary, distracted as he was by his laser attachment suddenly bursting apart in a puff of smoke, failed to notice the ballistic toolbox, and was promptly flattened under the heavy container.

As his own laser attachment simply stopped working, the mercenary leader cursed.  “Fall back!”

With the shields no longer fogging up, Danny lowered the Ride Armor’s arms and tried to blink the afterimages away.  Seeing the gunmen turning tail and fleeing, the widower made to give chase.

Stomping after the retreating mercenaries, Danny failed to notice the white blocks stuck to the nearby support columns, nor did he notice the red blinking lights that were getting faster and faster…

* * *

 

Running her Ride Armor towards the distant geyser of fire spewing up from the sinkhole, Taylor took deep calming breaths.  Alpha was fine.  He had to be.  She’d even used that batch of ceratanium that came out surprisingly heat resistant when making his armor.  Honestly, her youngest son could walk through a burning building and come out only slightly soot-smeared.  It’d probably take a small sun to even cause discomfort, really.

Hmm…maybe she should approach Chief Dornitz about making firefighting suits using this…Ceratanium F.  Yes, that sounded like a good name for that strain of ceratanium.  Good thing she recorded what went into each new batch she made.

Taylor twitched, forcing herself to focus back on the matter of hand with a mental slap.  It was not the time for science!

Her radio crackled, and Lan’s worried face popped up in the corner of her HUD.

<<Mom, systems just logged an illegal access attempt from your office!>>

At the same time, Iris’ portrait popped up next to Lan’s.

<<Mother!  Audio sensors report an explosion at the Hangar!>>

Throwing both feet forward, Taylor brought her Ride Armor to a skidding halt.  “What!?”


	37. Resolution 6:4

Taylor froze, indecision gripping her tightly as her Ride Armor idled beneath her. 

Hangar or office?  Or Alpha?

As much as she hated it, she’d have to leave Lung to Alpha.  As much as it tugged at her heart to leave her youngest to that man’s mercy, she knew she had no choice. 

Flashes of a cracked lens and shattered limbs flickered before her eyes.

No.  No, he’d be fine.  She just had to keep telling herself that.  Taylor had rebuilt him, better, stronger, faster.  He’d be fine.

He’d be fine.

<<I’m rerouting several squads of Pantheons to the Hangar,>> Iris’ reported over the radio.  <<Be advised, experimental assets are being deployed.>>

Taylor grit her teeth.  Right then.  Whoever it was trying to break into her systems in her own office would be regretting it soon.

The radio crackled.  <<This is Colonel, VIPs have been escorted to safety and have entered the shelters.  Moving to secure Workshop.  ETA: three minutes.>>

Taylor blinked.  Oh, well…that was convenient.  Activating her radio, Taylor thrust the controls forward.  “This is X.  Moving to assist Alpha.”

Spirits buoyed, Taylor made for the fishery sinkhole.  Though, as she drove the Ride Armor to full speed, she couldn’t help but wonder what Iris had meant by ‘experimental assets…

* * *

 

The man who simply called himself ‘Skull,’ watched as the Hangar finished collapsing, the broken roof throwing up a cloud of dust as it settled.  Snarling, he turned on his heels and strode away, gesturing for his men to follow him into a narrow alley.

“Did we get anything?”

One of the mercenaries held up a thin, foot-long silver tube with two parallel spikes at one end.  “I got this doohickey.  Dunno what it does.”

The mercenary next to him sighed.  “That’s a soldering pen, Mike.”

“Oh.”

“So, we got nothing?” A mercenary in a simple balaclava groaned.  “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“We lost Phillips,” another mercenary noted.  “That guy in the suit took him out with a toolbox.”

A squad of Pantheon drones ran in formation past the alleyway.  One stopped a moment to scan the alley, only to turn away and follow after the others.

Skull poked his head out from behind the conveniently placed crate he had hidden behind.

“We all knew the risks when we signed on,” the mercenary leader retorted, motioning his men forward out of hiding.  “Now stow the chatter.  I don’t want to end up like Alpha squad.  Bunch of trigger-happy lunatics.”

With that, the mercenaries ran across the road, only to slide to a stop as they were blinded by a piercing spotlight.

As his men shielded their eyes from the searing light, Skull moved into action.  Shouldering his assault rifle, the mercenary fired a burst at the source of the light, a floating figure cast into shadow by the bright light.

The light cut out, revealing the figure to be a flying Pantheon unit moments before it crashed to the ground with an electronic squeal.

“Shit.”  Snarling at the bullet-riddled drone, Skull turned to his men.  “We’ve been made.  We’re in for it now, boys.”

* * *

 

Colonel entered the Workshop through the hole left in the side of the wall.  Alpha’s doing, he wagered.  Probability pointed to that being the intruder’s point of ingress as well.

Well, that was certainly a flaw in their security that needed to be addressed post haste.  After this current crisis was averted, that is.

Gripping his cane in his hands, Colonel directed the squad of Pantheon Hunters following him to enter the Workshop, his orders carried along by the comnet.  As the Pantheons spread out silently across the former warehouse, Colonel made his way to the stairs leading up to the offices.

Picking his way carefully up the stairs – stepping just so on some and skipping others entirely – Colonel ghosted up to the door with nary a sound. 

Extending his pointer finger, Colonel twisted it just so, opening a small aperture and causing a small cable to pop out from the tip.  Extending the cable, Colonel passed the tiny camera at the end through the crack under the door.

This extendable probe was not a part of Colonel’s original specifications, but rather, was an add-on that Colonel had requested upon binge watching a series of spy movies with Alpha.  He’d foreseen the potential usefulness in such a device, and now it was proving its worth.

With the camera probe poking out from under the door equipped with a fisheye lens, Colonel was able to see the entire office.  Specifically, he was able to see who was trying to access his creator and mother’s personal computer.

Sat in a swivel chair and hunched over the keyboard, they were thin and gangly, of indeterminable gender.  Even while wearing an orange, formfitting morphsuit, Colonel could not make out any discernable features.  His analytical processes were likewise coming up as inconclusive.  Catching a glimpse of a grinning white ‘comedy’ mask reflecting off the office window, Colonel ran an archive search.

He received a result rather quickly.

Circus.  Gender unknown, a grab-bag cape with minor pyrokinesis mixed with a personal hammerspace.  An accomplished cat burglar, one with an apparently mean left hook according to PHO.

Lovely.

Retracting his probe, Colonel stood up and simply opened the door.

“Hello,” he greeted cordially as he stepped into the office.  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the computer.”

Circus froze mid-type, then straightened up and spun their chair around to face Colonel.  The androgynous cape tilted their head to the side, one hand resting on their cheek while the other supported their elbow.  “You know, that has got to be the politest ‘cease and desist’ order I’ve ever received.  Most times the rent-a-cops just burst through the door waving their guns and screaming ‘hands up.’”

Colonel smiled politely.  “Well, I am hardly a rent-a-cop.”  His genial smile faded away into a stern line.  “But again, I have to ask that you step away from the computer and that you surrender yourself to our custody.”

Though a mask covered their face, Colonel had the distinct impression that Circus was smirking at him.  “Yeah…that’s not going to happen.”

With a single smooth motion, Circus grabbed the back of their chair and flipped themselves up into a handstand.  Then, they pushed off into a handspring to land lightly atop the desk next to the computer monitor.

Colonel blinked.  Unusual flexibility and gymnastic skill.  That had not been in Circus’ profile.  He would have to update that once all was said and done.

Gripping his cane, Colonel began twisting the mechanism to deploy his beam saber, only to come up short as he came face to face with the gaping muzzle of a bazooka.  Reviewing his visual data revealed that Circus had pulled it from behind their back, its length appearing from previously empty space.

Of course, that was neither here nor there, because Circus had begun to pull the trigger.

Leaping back, Colonel hunched up in midair and drew his cape around him, trusting in the ceratanium weave to protect him from the worst of the damage.  He closed his eyes and braced himself.

There was a flash of light, searing through his eyelids, and a heart-punching thwump, and Colonel crashed to the floor, dazzled and deafened by the light and noise.

As his audio receptor rang and his optics cycled rapidly, Colonel gave thanks that his balance came from a pair of gyroscopic stabilizers in his inner ears, rather than a set of floating bones.  Otherwise, what was certainly a flash-bang shell would have rendered him wholly insensate and helpless.

Forcing his audios and optics through a crash reboot, Colonel rose to his feet and surveyed the office.  Damage was minimal: the office looked to have been burgled, papers and other light objects tossed about by the flashbang’s shockwave.  Additionally, the window had been broken outwards, and through the shattered opening could be heard the familiar discharge of neural disruptors.

Face set grimly, Colonel drew his beam saber and leapt out the shattered window.

* * *

 

Taylor could feel her heart leap up into her throat as she turned the corner, one hand of the Ride Armor skimming the ground as the machine took the curve like an Olympic speed-skater.  She was almost there, just one more turn and she’d be at the sinkhole.  She could already see the fight; smoke and great gouts of flame and fire shooting up into the sky.

Ahead, she spotted a squad of Pantheons and Ride Armors escorting four capes and three grotesquely mutated canines.  Those had to be the Undersiders, Taylor mused to herself.  Although why they had decided to lead Lung into the dockyards was beyond her.  Surely, they had to know about her security forces?

Of course, when choosing between robots and an angry dragon, what choice would she have made?

Regrettably, Taylor’s musings on the subject were interrupted by a man suddenly appearing in her Ride Armor’s cockpit, the leering grin of his oni mask mere inches from her face.

Shrieking in surprised terror, Taylor lashed out, her armored fist passing through the man’s head.  The man fell apart into ash in an instant.  The grenade in his hand…did not.

With an ominous _ping,_ the grenade bounced off Taylor’s lap and disappeared somewhere in the cockpit’s floorspace.  However, Taylor only had eyes for the safety lever flipping end over end through the air.

“Oh poo.”

* * *

 

Colonel’s boots slammed into the concrete floor just in time for the Reploid to witness Circus stab a combat knife into a Pantheon’s optic and slide away between its legs.  Knife still embedded in its shattered eye, the Hunter flailed about blindly, before it connected to its fellows’ visual feeds and reoriented itself.

Unfortunately, of the ten Pantheons that Colonel had brought with him into the Workshop, only four were still ambulatory, the other six strewn about in various states of dismemberment.

Twisting the bottom of his beam saber, Colonel dialed down the power, the brilliant green of the blade dimming to an anorexic yellow.  It would not do to kill or maim an unarmored opponent; barring heart problems, the worst the low-powered plasma sword would do was electric shocks and minor burns.

Charging forward, Colonel slashed at Circus, only for the androgynous cape to twist almost unnaturally around the Reploid’s arm.  They landed, kneeling on his shoulders and thighs gripping their head.  Circus squeezed their legs and twisted their hips, whether to choke him or to snap his neck, Colonel knew not.  However, it’d take much more than that to do either to one such as him.

Reaching up, Colonel grabbed Circus by the arm and threw them bodily at the wall.  With a flip, the androgynous cape landed on the wall and pushed off, a sparking katana appearing in her hands to decapitate a Pantheon in passing.  Hitting the ground with a forward roll, Circus popped back up to their feet and wildly swung their sword at Colonel.

Sparking steel met glowing plasma, and the two combatants locked their blades.  The lock lasted but a moment, Colonel lashing out with a roundhouse kick, Circus folding under the attack with a Matrix Backwards Dodge. 

Cartwheeling upright, Circus tossed a flurry of fireballs before popping a smoke grenade.  Colonel immediately grabbed the corner of his cape and drew it up before himself with a flourish, the fireballs splashing harmlessly off the ceratanium weave in a flurry of sparks.

The two Pantheons moving to flank Colonel were not so lucky.  One took a fireball to the face, letting out an electronic squeal of distress before the oils and wires in its head ignited, melting circuits and its CPU into useless slag.  The other raised its gunarm to fire, only for a fireball to impact the buster’s focusing array just as it fired, causing a cascade effect that short circuited the Pantheon completely.

Colonel stepped back several paces as the two Pantheon’s fell to the floor, mindful of the vulnerability he’d presented when shielding himself with his cape.  He was down to two Hunters now, one of which was blind and reliant on its fellow for visual data. 

As the smoke spread, one of the Pantheons stepped closer, brandishing its buster.  A moment later its head went flying, sheared off at the neck by a sledgehammer that swung out of the smoke.

Colonel grit his teeth as the decapitated mechaniloid fell over, hand grasping at the space its head once occupied.  Make that one, blind Pantheon. 

Setting himself into a fencing stance as the smoke rolled over him, blade by his head and pointed forward, Colonel closed his eyes and upped the gain to his aural receptors.  He listened, hearing the hissing of the smoke grenade, the sparking of the destroyed Pantheons, the blind Hunter stomping blindly about, the soft tread of cloth on cement – there!

Spinning about, Colonel struck out with his beam saber, eyes still closed.  There was a grunt, and a momentary sensation of resistance, then nothing. 

Falling back into a fencing stance, Colonel waited, analyzing the situation.

The smoke was spreading, rendering visual acquisition range to near zero, affording Circus time to hide and ambush to their heart’s content.  Fortunately, that would cease to be a problem in 3… 2… 1…

As predicted, the Workshop’s automated systems activated, and the air circulation system kicked in, rapidly sucking the smoke out of the converted warehouse.

The smoke cleared, revealing that the Workshop was empty, save for a blind Pantheon unit and the wrecked remains of nine others.

Of Circus, the only sign was a scrap of burnt, orange cloth.

Deactivating and sheathing his beam saber, Colonel could but voice a single thought in summary.

“Well, this is a right mess.”

* * *

 

Taylor hit the ground hard, landing on her rear as the Ride Armor’s chair crashed down to the asphalt behind her.  Rolling over and pushing herself to her feet, Taylor turned to stare at the burning remains of her Ride Armor, hands pressed against her lower back as she popped her spine.  “Note to self: the ejection seats need better inertial protections.  More padding.”

Letting go of her bruised ribs with a grunt, Taylor shifted her left hand into buster mode.  Her eyes shifted back and forth across the street, wariness in her gaze as she reached up and activated her radio.  “Command, this is X, uh… be advised, Oni Lee is in the AO,” she reported, mimicking the radio chatter they always played on cop shows.  “I’m on foot; jerk took out my Ride Armor.”

<<Roger, X,>> Iris’ voice responded.  <<Diverting forces your way.  Reinforcements are en route.>>

Well, that was something, at least. 

Pointing her buster dead ahead and bracing it with her free hand, Taylor started moving down the street.  She went slowly, each step seeing her buster point in a different direction, occasionally spinning about completely to check behind her before turning back around.  Oni Lee could be anywhere and everywhere – almost literally what with his clones.  Combined with the fact he could teleport through her shields… well, it was enough to set one’s teeth on edge.

Taylor’s radio crackled.  <<X!  Yo man, you alright?>>

Taylor looked down the street to see one of the Ride Armors escorting the Undersiders walking towards her.

She waved them off.  “Get back!  Oni Lee’s here, his clones can get through Ride Armor shields!”  The Ride Armor stumbled, and Taylor continued.  “Get to safety.  I’ll handle things from here!”

The Ride Armor stopped, hesitantly.  <<Yeah… yeah, alright.  Good luck man.>>

With a wave, the Ride armor moved back to join the others.  With gritted teeth and bated breath, Taylor watched as the formation of Ride Armors, Pantheons, and captured villains make for safety. 

Something smashed into the back of her neck, and Taylor stumbled as her lifeshield integrity dropped.  Catching herself, she spun around to see Oni Lee, catching a glimpse of a broken knife in hand as he collapsed into ash.

Gunshots, to her right, lifeshield flaring as Oni Lee unloaded most of a clip before collapsing into ash. 

Ducking under a wild knife swing and the subsequent shower of ashes, Taylor decided that now was the perfect time to try out her newest weapon mode.

Oni Lee popped into existence in front of Taylor, a grenade in hand, only to suddenly split in half vertically with a flash of green light before exploding into dust.

Taylor took a quick glance down at her armor.  Black armor plating over a teal undersuit, with yellow highlights down the sides of the suit.  Her buster had changed as well, turning dark red and shifting to become shorter but bulkier, extruding four knife-like claws that bracketed the barrel.  And from the barrel, blazed the crackling, fiery electric green blade of a beam saber.

A beam saber that had cut Oni Lee’s clone in half.  Which was concerning, considering she’d wanted the blade set to stun, so to speak.

Grimacing, Taylor shifted her beam saber’s mode from high to low power, the poisonous green blade dimming to a harsh yellow.  Well, at least that worked.  Still, that was a rather dangerous glitch that would need fixing.

Just as soon as she was done dealing with the teleporting ash man.  And the fiery rage dragon.  And the Undersiders.  And whoever had broken into her office.  And whoever it was setting off explosions by the hangar.

Good lord, there was a lot of people running around the docks tonight.

Well, the Undersiders had been dealt with at least.  And the others were being handled by her family.  That just left –

A demonic apparition appeared before Taylor, a ghastly white face leering out over a body of black, festooned with implements of death and pain.

The Oni.

Gritting her teeth, Taylor shifted her right foot back, holding her left arm, and therefor her beam saber, before her defensively.  She stared down the Oni’s grotesque mask, waiting for him to make a move.

Waiting for him to make a move.

Waiting for…

Taylor found herself glancing warily from side to side.  _‘Is something supposed to be happening?’_

At that moment, a piece of paper, set aflame and aloft by the knock-down drag-out fight between Alpha and Lung, drifted down from above.  As the ashy and slowly combusting scrap kissed the hard asphalt, Oni Lee moved, collapsing into ash himself.

A flicker of movement out the corner of her eye had Taylor spinning on her heels to face her opponent.  She brought her blade-arm down as she did so, ready to strike; but instead, Taylor froze, because for one brief moment, it was not Oni Lee she was facing, but a black-armored man with glowing red eyes and long, flowing blond hair.

‘ _What the?’_

Taylor blinked, and she was facing Oni Lee again.  Though utterly confused, she made to continue her attack; however, her moment’s hesitation had been one moment too long.  Even as she had blinked, Oni Lee had already pulled the pin on the grenade in his hands and had released the safety lever.

The explosion knocked Taylor off her feet, sending her tumbling across the ground before rolling to a stop on her side.  She gasped for breath, the blast having knocked all the air out of her lungs.  As she rolled over onto her hands and knees, she noted with some alarm that her lifeshield was down, the indicator on her HUD empty and flashing red.  Fortunately, after a bloodchilling moment, the indicator returned as the lifeshield reestablished itself, albeit severely diminished.  Sighing in relief, the young tinker pushed herself back to her feet.

Before she could fully get back to her feet though, Oni Lee was there, a booted foot crashing up into Taylor’s gut.  While not enough to break the lifeshield or for Taylor to feel it, the force behind the kick was enough to knock her over, sending her rolling across the scorched asphalt. 

Taylor gasped as hands were around her throat, Oni Lee suddenly straddling her on his knees as he tried to strangle her.  It didn’t work, the lifeshield flaring opaque under the teleporting villain’s squeezing fingers, though it didn’t stop him from trying.  Yelling with fury, Taylor lashed out, stabbing Oni Lee in the head with her beam saber.

The villain spasmed, then sloughed apart into ash, scattered by small bolts of electricity and plasma.  Taylor rolled to her feet, only to stumble as the Oni teleported next to her, unloading his pistol into the side of her head.  Though it didn’t break the lifeshield, it was enough to stagger the tinker and to set her ears ringing from the gunshots.  Even as she clutched at the side of her head and tried to keep her feet, Oni Lee materialized behind Taylor, knife glancing off the lifeshield above her kidney even as another popped up and thrust a live grenade at her face.

Again, and again, Oni Lee attacked, stabbing, shooting, and doing his damnedest to blow Taylor up.  Disoriented and thrown off balance, it was all Taylor could do to keep her feet and swing blindly at the shadows that materialized and faded away like smoke on the wind.  Through it all, the lifeshield began to shriek insistently, flashing red as its integrity slowly dwindled, down, down, down…

A brief respite came as trio of Pantheon Flyers flew down out of the sky, a barrage of energy pouring down on Oni Lee.  Unfortunately, the reprieve was short-lived, all three Pantheons exploding when one of the villain’s clones appeared in their midst, a grenade in hand.

Fortunately, it was just enough time for Taylor to recover her wits.  Breathing heavily, she changed gears, switching out her weapon mode for something more defensive.  Armor becoming red on grey, her buster unfolded into a large, circular shield.  Emitters on the shield came to life, and her lifeshield meter more than doubled, the field’s integrity jumping up to nearly 200%.

Oni Lee coalesced before her, staring her new form down before once more collapsing into ash.

As she resumed dealing with trying not to die, Taylor could only hope everyone else was having better luck.

* * *

 

Alpha let out a wild hoot of abandon as he blast-vaulted over Lung’s snapping maw, sliding down the draconic being’s scaly back before launching off the tail into the air.  He spun about, bringing his knuckle-buster cannons to bear, unleashing a swarm of plasma shots.  However, Lung, in a move surprisingly agile for a being that already out massed most trucks and was still growing, spun about on one digitigrade foot and volleyball spiked Alpha with a massive paw.

Bouncing off the slowly melting ground, Alpha rolled to his feet and shook his head clear.  This was so exciting!  Okay, it hurt to be smacked about and thrown like a toy, but come on!  How often did he get a target that he could hit and hit and hit and _hit_ and never have break?  It was awesome!  Alright, he was supposed to be stopping the dragon man from breaking anything (or anyone), but now that they were in this hole, he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Yelling with joyous glee, Alpha charged forward to meet Lung head-on.

Oh, how he hoped everyone was having as grand a time as he.

* * *

 

The mercenaries ran, taking to the twisting maze of warehouses and old shipping containers that was this part of the docks.  They were harried every step of the way, drones both flying and grounded seeming to pop up around every corner.

The man pulling up the rear let out a yelp as he scrabbled around the corner, a plume of boiling flame billowing past down the alleyway the mercenaries had just abandoned.  A mechanical shriek, more of a distorted wail really, echoed between the stacks of shipping containers as a particular Pantheon strode forth languidly.

With its bright cherry red paintjob and head shaped like a firefighter’s helmet with blinking lights, the Pantheon looked oddly cheerful.  However, the large tank on its back, the thick black hoses leading to the right arm, and the liquid fire dribbling from the nozzle replacing the right hand somewhat ruined the look.  The distorted wailing it emitted from the gasmask-like grill under it’s cheerfully glowing eye did not help.

Then there was that thing, Skull scowled as he shot a Pantheon Hunter in the face, the armor piercing rounds passing cleanly though its armor.  It was the biggest reason they were taking this roundabout route to the fences.  The regular Pantheons they could deal with; it was a simple matter of gunning them down and then dragging along anyone who’d been hit by a neural disruptor until they stopped twitching.  That thing though… well, fire was much more permanent.  Not to mention the occasional and literal firewalls.

Light built up in the depths of the red Pantheon’s nozzle, and Skull lead his men down yet another alleyway, fire once again filling their previous alleyway just as the last man dove into the new one. 

They were being herded.  Intellectually, Skull knew this.  Problem was, knowing what was happening and knowing how to avoid it were two different matters.

Not for the first time, Skull cursed his employer.  The damn snake never gave sufficient intel.  Usually, it somehow always worked out.  But lately… well, the boss had been slipping.  And now, it was biting them all in the ass.  Was a pre-mission intel briefing too much to ask for?

Perhaps, Skull mused, it might be time to start looking for a new employer.  One who didn’t act like a knockoff Bond villain.

Pulling out his phone (technically against Coil’s communications blackout orders, but screw him), Skull opened the map app and zoomed in on the docks, mentally sketching out a route.  There, that should do it.  Still looking down at his phone, Skull took a corner, leading his men down the alley to freedom.

Left, a right, down this straightaway, past the remnants of an old railway, around this last corner, and then down this alley, and they’d be at the waterfront.  There was a dead drop there, one of the multiples of hidden stores that Coil had arranged for over the years.  There’d be rebreathers and frogman gear for a quick underwater getaway there, Skull knew; after all, he’d been the one to set up that particular cache. 

They’d just have to get down this alley first, and then…

Looking up, Skull ground to a halt, staring at the steel wall before him, his men piling up behind him.  Dead end.  What should have been an open alley between two warehouses was blocked, a pair of stacked shipping containers wedged up against the far end of the alleyway.

Damn.  ‘ _Backtrack, go around.  We still might have time._ ’  Skull turned around to push his men out of the alley, only to come up short as a jet of flame arced across the mouth of the lane, leaving a wall of fire that sealed the alleyway shut.

‘ _Shit.  Trapped.’_

A high-pitched, electronic giggle echoed down the alley.  _‘And now the damn things are taunting us.  Lovely.’_

Clutching his rifle in his hands, Skull glanced about.  “Anyone see a way out?”

A chorus of replies swiftly answered.

“No.”

“Negative.”

“Nope.”

“Hey, I found a door!”

Shoving his way through as his men clumped together around the man who spoke, Skull surveyed the door in the side of the warehouse.  It looked similar to one of the doors that had been popping up on the buildings refurbished by X and his ilk; a pair of armored shutters with a circular lock in the center.  It was backlit with some sort of soft blue light, giving the door an eerie air to it.

Palming the sensor next to the door, Skull was pleased when the shutters opened to reveal the yawning darkness of an unlit room. 

Ushering his men inside, Skull took one last look down the alley, taking in the burning fires and the shadows growing on the opposite side of the flames.  He went through the door, and the shutters closed, the lock cycling shut.

Moments later, the alley was swarming with Pantheons.

* * *

 

Lan scowled, deleting another instance of the virus that had infected his mother’s desktop.  While the intruder hadn’t managed to so much as get past the login screen, that didn’t help when all it took to install a virus was to just plug in a flash drive.

They’d really have to rectify that.

Deleting yet another viral instance before it could reach the OS, Lan threw up a quick firewall, joining the ones protecting Taylor’s various files and folders.  Hopefully that’d keep them out long enough to finish compiling his anti-viral program.

Sparing a glance to the security feeds to watch Colonel searching the Workshop, making sure that Circus wasn’t just simply hiding in a corner, Lan hoped that everyone else was having better luck.

* * *

 

An explosion broke over her shield like a wave on the rocks, and Taylor immediately followed up by spinning about and falling to one knee, shield braced high.  She was immediately rewarded by the sound of a snapping knife and she lunged forward, slamming her shield into a pair of legs.  There were two sickening snaps, and then a puff of ash billowed into the air.

Coming back to her feet, Taylor waited for the next strike.

There was a pattern to the Oni’s attacks.  Switching to the shield had provided Taylor the breathing space she needed.  Once her brain wasn’t being rattled about her skull with every errant grenade and she’d been able to think properly, she’d started seeing the patterns, the tells.  From there, it was a simple matter to dodge and block the attacks as they came.

Or, it would have been, if not for the fact that her lungs had soon began to burn and her sides to ache.  That her limbs were beginning to feel like lead was not helping matters either.

“If I get out of this,” Taylor panted, ponderously swinging her shield out to the side and catching an Oni clone in the side of the head.  “More cardio.”

Anticipating the next attack, Taylor jumped back and brought her shield forward as Oni Lee appeared.  However, before he could do anything, a volley of neural disruptor shots discorporated his body. 

Taylor turned her head to see a squad of Pantheon Hunters advancing onto the road from between two buildings.  They promptly exploded as Oni Lee appeared within their midst. 

That didn’t matter, however, because even as the shrapnel stopped falling, more Pantheons began swarming onto the road.  Explosions blossomed across the street, scattering limbs and entire Pantheons every which way as Oni Lee began to rampage through the gathering horde of drones, but reinforcements continued to pour in, filling the holes in the ranks just as quickly as the villain made them.

A squad of Pantheon Guardians rushed by Taylor, and the teenager let herself sink to one knee to catch her breath as the Guardians took up a protective formation around her, electric clubs held at the ready.  All the same, even as her chest heaved, Taylor stayed alert, shield at the ready.

As she watched Pantheon drones be tossed around as Oni Lee appeared and vanished in rapid succession, explosions following in his wake, Taylor recalled something she’d read once on PHO.  On one of the threads discussing the major villains of Brockton Bay had purported that Oni Lee’s clone-teleportation was limited by line-of-sight.  Of course, the thread had quickly devolved into slurs and insults before it was locked. 

But if the speculation had been right – Taylor turned away from the robot massacre and began scanning the rooftops – then Oni Lee had to be somewhere where he could see the entire street…

A sudden downdraft battered Taylor and her Guardians, forcing her to shield her face from scouring dust and grit as a deafening roar thundered overhead.  Blinking the dust out of her eyes, Taylor lowered her arms (shield and all) to see a pair of helicopters pass low overhead.  The two helicopters chuntered over the dockyards, making a pass past the sinkhole before coming about towards the fight raging within.  A geyser-like gout of flame shot up out of the sinkhole, illuminating the PRT markings on the tails of the helicopters as they began to circle the battle.

Taylor turned away from the helicopters and frowned, looking around the street-turned-battlefield.  Something was off.  She scanned the milling Pantheons, noting that… Taylor’s eyes widened.  The explosions.  Nothing was exploding.

Where was Oni Lee?

“He’s gone,” Taylor muttered.  Was it really that easy?  He just… up and left?  “I’m not quite sure how to feel about that.”  On the one hand, no more explosions.  On the other, crazy serial suicide bomber still on the loose, free to help Lu-

Gasping, Taylor twisted to stare at the helicopters circling the sinkhole.  _‘Free to help Lung.  Oh God, Alpha!’_   Dropping her shield back to the default buster, Taylor tried to scramble to her feet, only to stumble over her boots and fall back to her hands and knees.  _‘No no no no no no no!’_

However, Taylor did not need to worry.  Because even as she was starting to panic, the doors on the circling helicopters slid open.  Great gouts of grey foam began to spew from the helicopters, door gunners manning the nozzles expelling the spume.

Relief flooded Taylor’s heart as she recognized the foam being poured down into the sinkhole, even as roars of rage echoed through the dockyards.  Containment foam; the number one tool of the PRT.  Guaranteed to hold even the brutiest brute, strikiest striker, or blastiest blaster once it had set and hardened.

Hopefully Alpha had the sense of mind to get out of the way of the foam before…

<<Augh!  Ergleblarf!  Ew, yuck, it’s in in my moughrblefrbl!>>

Taylor pursed her lips as she listened to the radio.  Apparently, he did not.

Sighing, Taylor rose to her feet and started trudging towards the sinkhole.  The Pantheons in the street parted to let her pass, the squad of Guardians falling into step behind her.

Oni Lee may have gotten away, but Alpha was safe.  Not even Lung could burn through containment foam once it had set around him.  Not once he’d shrunk down from lack of a fight.  Sure, Alpha was trapped in the foam with him, but he’d be fine until they could dig him out.  Taylor would just have to keep him calm until –

_Ba-ding!_

Taylor slowed to a stop as she read the alert that had popped up on her HUD.

 

 

> **Scan complete**
> 
> **Variable Weapons System – Online**
> 
> **New Weapons Data Available**
> 
> **Ash Soul – Condition Ready**

“Oh, fantastic.  We’re doing this again.  Wonderful.”  Taylor sighed and rubbed her jaw.  “What even is my life?”

A muffled screaming over the radio drew Taylor’s attention back to the here and now.  “Right, Alpha.”  Setting off once more, Taylor set her radio to a private channel.  “Hang tight Alpha, Momma’s coming.”

 

 


	38. Resolution 6:x

Colin Wallis, clad in the latest iteration of his Armsmaster armor, pulled to a halt as he arrived at the sinkhole where Lung was trapped in foam.  Dismounting his motorcycle, the Protectorate tinker took in his surroundings.

The damages were surprisingly light for a Lung rampage.  Yes, there were footprints melted into the street itself, and some of the surrounding warehouses were on fire, but for the most part, everything was still intact and structurally sound.

Though, Colin reflected, that might have something to do with the new Pantheon variants he saw running around.  Their visual design, invoking the imagery of a firefighter, was rather apt, considering they were currently spraying the fires with fire-retardant foam from back-mounted tanks.  He couldn’t help but wonder why these particular models were painted a high-visibility yellow, when he’d passed several of these new Pantheons painted in a bright cherry red on the way here.

Shaking his head, Armsmaster turned his attention to the sinkhole and sighed.  The door gunners on PRT 1-1 and 1-2 had been overenthusiastic in filling the hole with containment foam.  The gunner on PRT 1-2 had actually drained the foam tank dry, which was nearly unheard of for use on a single target. 

 _‘But then, most targets aren’t Lung,’_ Colin mused.  Given the circumstances, he found he couldn’t really blame either of the door gunners for their enthusiasm.

The sinkhole itself had been a good twenty feet deep, a roughly circular hole that spread across the entire street.  It had been filled completely with foam, and as the foam set, it had expanded.  It had swiftly overflowed, foam spilling from the lip of the sinkhole even as the foam swelled up over the sinkhole proper, like some sort of giant tub overflowing with bubblebath.

It looked like some sort of giant fungus, Colin reflected.

 _Or a giant zit,_ came a small voice unbidden in the back of his head, one that was unfortunately familiar.  _‘Dammit Assault!  You aren’t even here, and I still can’t get away from your immature jokes.’_

Growling irritably, Colin strode around the perimeter of the foam bubble, to where several PRT agents were spraying solvent.  Dissolving foam streamed away in yellowish rivulets, and in the middle of it lay X.  The younger tinker was crouched down, fishing in the pool of dissolved foam, arm submerged up to the armpit.

Blinking at the strange sight, Armsmaster strode purposefully to the agent supervising the sprayers, his HUD highlighting the man as ‘LT I. Pliskin’.  “Report.  What’s the situation?”

Turning his head slightly, Agent Pliskin harrumphed as he removed a stubby cigar from his mouth.  “Undersiders pissed off Lung, he gave chase,” he started, tapping the ash off his cigar.  “Undersiders led him here to the docks – didn’t even slow him down.”  The agent took a drag on his cigar, hooking a thumb over his shoulder as he did so.  “There’s a thirty-foot length of melted fence at the point of ingress; a couple of guards that were there were taken to the ER.  Dunno their current disposition, but one of them was in a bad way.”

Snuffing out the cigar stub on the bottom of his boot, Pliskin tucked the stump away in a pocket before gesturing at the foam-filled sinkhole.  “Undersiders led Lung on a merry chase, but they cornered themselves here.  Thankfully for them, Lung was intercepted by an independent parahuman under X’s employ.”

Colin opened a word processor on his HUD and selected a template for a new parahuman profile.  “Does this independent have a name?”

“Alpha,” Pliskin replied as he pulled out a new cigar, biting off the tip.  “Basic brute package, on top of a set of tinkertech armor X built him, gives him blaster and mover abilities.”  Striking a match off the stubble on his cheek, Pliskin lit his new cigar and took a deep drag.  “He engaged Lung, and the two ended up in the sinkhole there.”  Blowing a ring of smoke, Pliskin gave a wry smile.  “They were beating each other silly when the choppers foamed ‘em.”

Grunting, Colin saved and closed the new profile.  “What of the Undersiders?”

“Captured.  Got nabbed by security drones and dockworkers in power suits.  I sent Diaz and his squad to collect them and get them back to HQ.”  Frowning, Pliskin gestured in the air with his cigar.  “That’s only the half of it though.  Talked to a ‘Command and Control,’ or CeeCee for short.  She reported that while this was going on, there was an infiltration of facilities by hostile forces.” 

Fishing in a pocket of his tactical vest, Pliskin pulled out a small notepad and passed it over to Armsmaster.  “Heavily armed mercenaries and a known parahuman thief,” he began as Colin flipped through the notepad.  “The mercs leveled the Ride Armor repair facility.  Reported explosions makes me think demolition charges were involved.  As for the thief…”

“Yes, odd,” Colin mused as he flipped though the notes, scanning the pages into his systems.  “Circus has been noted as responsible for several cases of industrial sabotage and theft, but this is somewhat outside of their usual MO.”  Closing the notepad, Colin returned it to Pliskin.  “Where is this ‘CeeCee?’”

Pliskin shrugged.  “Dunno.  She’s not actually here: she’s off somewhere monitoring the docks’ security cameras and directing the Pantheon drones.  We had to get her statement over radio.”

Grumbling, Colin idly tapped the butt of his halberd on the ground.  “I don’t like this.  It’s too convenient.”

Grunting, Pliskin chomped the cigar between his teeth.  “I know what you mean.  Mercs and villains just happening to sneak in when Lung is on a rampage?  You know what they say about coincidences.”

Before Colin could respond though, the radio crackled.

<Uh, dispatch, this is Diaz.  Paddy wagon one is on the way to HQ, ETA twenty, with Grue, Tattletale, and Regent secured aboard.  We’re having some problems with Hellhound though.  She’s refusing to go anywhere without her dogs, and we’re at a bit of a standoff.  Please advise.>

Sighing, Colin activated his transmitter.  “This is Armsmaster to Diaz.  Do not do anything, I am on the way.”

Letting off the transmitter, Colin turned back to Pliskin.  “I have to go.  If you would give X my regards?”

Nodding, Pliskin watched Armsmaster return to his motorcycle and speed off, before turning his attention back to the sinkhole.

Not a moment later, X got up into a crouch and gave a mighty pull, causing a blue armored torso to pop out of the melting foam.

“AIR!”

Pliskin watched in bemusement as X helped a gasping and spluttering Alpha crawl out of the sinkhole, gooey slop running off his armored form in goopy, orange streams (thankfully, dissolved confoam was just as breathable as its solid counterpart, if unbearably unpleasant to aspirate).

‘ _Right.  Now for Lung.  Joy,_ ’ Pliskin thought cynically. ‘ _Just three more weeks until retirement, and then this will all be someone else’s problem.’_

* * *

 

Colin pulled up to the small perimeter around the prisoner transport and dismounted.  One of the officers noticed him and ran over, Colin’s HUD labeling him as ‘SGT M. Diaz.’ 

“Armsmaster!  Boy, am I glad to see you!”

Nodding, Colin strode towards the gathered agents, drawing his halberd as he did so.  “Has the situation changed any?”

Diaz shook his head as he ran after Armsmaster, having to rush to keep up with the tinker’s long stride.  “No.  As I said on the radio, we got the other Undersiders on the transport, no problem.  Then Smith tried to take Hellhound’s dogs and put them in the other transport.  None of them took that well.”

Armsmaster pushed his way through the perimeter of nervous agents and took in the scene.  Hellhound, AKA Bitch, AKA Rachel Lindt, was in the center of the loose circle of PRT agents, surrounded by three dogs and a single, large mound of solidified containment foam.  Colin’s HUD helpfully labelled the dogs as a rottweiler and a terrier; the HUD stuttered a bit on the third, before tentatively labelling it as a 53% match for an American Pitbull.  Less helpfully, the HUD labelled the mound of solidified confoam as ‘PVT G. Smith.’

“The terrier bit Smith when he tried to pick it up, and he promptly started flailing about with a dog clamped down on his hand,” Diaz explained as he pushed through next to Armsmaster.  “And then the other dogs joined in and swarmed him.  Hellhound called them off, but Smith still tried to foam them.”  Diaz shook his head as he took in the mound of foam.  “Near as I can tell, one of the dogs bit the hose feeding the sprayer, and it burst when Smith tried to use it.”

“You didn’t try foaming them from a distance?” Armsmaster inquired testily.

Diaz twisted his face up in a grimace.  “Smith had the only sprayer, and none of us were too keen on getting close enough to use the spray cans.”

Well, if that wasn’t a blatant violation of SOP if he’d ever seen one.  Agents armed with foam sprayers were _never_ to approach a target save for in the most drastic of situations.  Which securing a prisoner for transport most certainly was not.

He came to a decision.

“Right.  Stand back,” Colin commanded.  “I’ll handle this.”

Taking a deep breath, Colin strode forward purposefully towards Hellhound and her dogs.  As he walked closer, Colin scanned the dogs and couldn’t help but grimace.  Extensive abuse was evident on all the dogs, the pitbull mutt missing his ears and the terrier missing an eye.  But the scars were old, and the dogs were well-fed and healthy.

The terrier noticed Armsmaster coming close and rounded on him, hackles raised and teeth bared.  The pitbull mutt and the rottweiler flanked Hellhound, bodies quivering and slavering at the mouth as they barked viciously.

Colin paused, focusing on Hellhound.  The girl was rigid, wound tighter than a drum, but that was understandable given the circumstances.  What wasn’t understandable was that the villainess’ posture matched her dogs’ almost perfectly, save for a few differences to account for the bodily differences in form and function.

A thought occurred to Armsmaster.  Was Hellhound brain-damaged by her trigger, taking cues from canine behavior to compensate?  He’d have to run that hypothesis by Dragon later, once she’d finished cleaning house, but it seemed plausible, and certainly lined up neatly with the various reports and sightings that followed her down from Maine.

The question now was, how did one deal with someone like Hellhound?

Hmm…

Perhaps he could test that hypothesis after all.

Setting his feet and planting the butt of his halberd on the ground, Armsmaster set himself in a commanding, but unthreatening posture.  He depolarized his visor and made eye contact with Hellhound.

* * *

 

Sergeant Diaz watched as the paddy wagon drove off with Hellhound and her dogs, Armsmaster following closely on his bike.

Shaking his head in disbelief at what he’d just witnessed, the PRT agent turned to address his squad.  “Alright, that’s enough gawking.  Back to work people.”

“Seriously?”  Diaz turned to see one of his squad members staring at him incredulously.  “The man just stared down a villain into surrendering, and all you have to say is ‘back to work?’”

Diaz gave the man an unamused look.  “It’s Armsmaster.  What’d you expect?”  He paused, gesturing at the pile of hardened confoam.  “Now, somebody unfoam Smith and tell him naptime’s over; we’ve got work to do.”

* * *

 

“How are you doing?”

Danny pulled the icepack from his head and looked up at Taylor.  “I’m okay Kiddo.  I just bonked my head on the steering wheel when the building came down, remember?”  Poking the goose egg under his thinning hair, Danny hissed and reapplied the icepack.  “The Ride Armor held, no sweat sweetie; you do good work.”

Though she was wearing her mask, it was still easy to see she was shamefaced.  Sighing, Taylor sat down on the curb next to her father.  “It’s…”  She took a shaky breath.  “I almost lost you.  I knew you hadn’t made it to any of the shelters, but…”

Letting out a breath, Danny put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders.  “I know.  But I came out of it alright.” 

When Taylor didn’t say anything and just continued to sit there, Danny let out a long sigh.  “Look.  Sometimes, you can do everything right, and still fail.  That’s life.  So don’t let it get you down, alright?”

Taylor mumbled a bit, before leaning into her father’s embrace.  “Yeah.  Alright.”

“That’s my girl.”

Pulling Taylor close, Danny stared up at the darkening sky, just simply enjoying the moment.

Of course, the moment was somewhat tarnished by the sudden sound of rushing water and sputtering gasps and gurgles of disgust.

Slowly, Danny turned his head towards the sound, only to see Alpha standing there, hunched over an opened hydrant, his face buried in the artificial geyser as it arched a torrential spew up into the sky.

“Gack, gah, phbt, oh, it tastes like pain!  Gackphbt!”

Blinking, Danny turned away and went back to staring up at the sky.  Sometimes, you just didn’t want to know.

* * *

 

Coil stared hard at Circus, hands steepled together as he leaned back; the shadows served to make the black of his bodysuit blend in with the black leather of his chair and thus made the white cobra pattern coiling around his seem to hover in midair.  “So, you failed.” 

Circus shrugged nonchalantly.  “Yeah, sorry about that.  I put the flashdrive in the computer like you said, but they must’ve had some good tech support, ‘cause it didn’t do didly.”

Coil grimaced.  ‘ _Blast.’_   The day had been, quite frankly, a disaster.  He’d had to burn a lot of assets to set things up; arranging for the Undersiders to hit Lung’s illicit casino, ensuring the ersatz dragon would be present at the time of the robbery, moving assets around to cut off the Undersider’s escape routes and force them towards the docks, moving Charlie squad into position and hiring a known Parahuman mercenary.

Now, several of his (albeit ultimately disposable) assets were dead at Lung’s hands, collateral to the man’s fiery rage; the Undersiders were in PRT custody; and Charlie squad was missing in action.

All that time and effort; wasted.  It was not a sensation Coil was used to.

Well, at the very least, he’d confirmed the presence of a thinker in X’s employ, possibly one with a technological bent to their power, given that the virus he’d supplied Circus with was the same tinkertech one he’d used to infiltrate Medhall’s files with none being the wiser.

“I did, however, manage to get you this,” Circus announced, the mercenary reaching behind their back. 

Coil watched as Circus placed the severed head of a Pantheon unit on the desk.  Slowly, as if in a trance, the mastermind reached out, stroking his thumb across the cracked eye-piece, ignoring the stray sparks and drops of oil dripping from the severed neck and ruining the finish on his desk.

A sick smile crossed Coil’s face under his mask.

Oh yes.  This had possibilities.

“Thank you, Circus.  You’ll find the agreed upon fee in your account upon the morrow.”

Taking the skull in hand, Coil spun his chair around, back to Circus in a clear dismissal.  He held the robotic skull up to the light.

Oh yes.  Such possibilities indeed.

 


	39. Resolution 6:∑

“KEEP FIRING!  KEEP FIRING YA BASTARDS OR WE’RE ALL FUCKED!”

Captain Connor Louat, acting commander of the freshly founded Canberra Containment Battalion, grimaced as he listened to Sergeant Muldoon scream exhortations at the firing line.  The sound of gunfire was deafening, but still only just drowned out the screams and groans of the lost and the damned.

“Look dammit,” he snarled, turning his attention back to the field phone in hand.  “The entire command staff was at ground zero when the pylon fell, there _is_ no one else!”  He paused.  “Where was I?  Where was _I_?  I was in medical with food poisoning you utter dill!”  Louat snarled.  “Now stop fucking around and get me my damn air support!”

Hanging up, Louat took a deep, shaky breath.  Oh, he’d probably pay for that little outburst later, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.  After all, he’d have to survive the day first.

Exiting the command tent, Louat swallowed his gorge.  The smell was horrendous, death and burning metal and cordite all blending into something unholy.  Breathing through his mouth, the captain took everything in.

The men of the Canberra Containment Battalion were dug in, hunkered down behind a mixture of prefabbed barriers, sandbags, jersey walls, or whatever piles of rubble they’d been able to throw together.  Beyond that, No Man’s Land; a blasted wasteland of dust and rubble.  When the containment field went up, every building in a three-block radius had been demolished, utterly and completely, to create an open killing ground.

Louat forced himself to look further on. Forming the inner border of No Man’s Land was the Canberra containment field.  A ring of pylons circling the city center, each projecting tightly confined fields of plasma that all came together to form a bubble of burning energy.  Horrendously expensive in both terms of money and energy expenditure, it was guaranteed to keep things in… or out.

Or, it would, had one of the pylons not suddenly and spectacularly failed, taking out its two neighbors with the cascade just as some visiting REMF had insisted on having the entire command staff take a tour of the perimeter with him.

 _‘Poor bastards_.’

Now there was a massive hole in the containment field, burning plasma dispersing harmlessly into the air in an almost beautiful display along the edges of the gap.

And pouring out from that gap came…

Louat quickly looked away.

Gritting his teeth and forcing himself to only look ahead, the captain strode quickly over to Sergeant Muldoon, an almost stereotypical digger, complete with lantern jaw and signature slouch hat.  The sergeant was bellowing provocations at his men, exhorting them to keep firing, no matter what.  A bit of a moot point, Louat thought, given most of them were already firing their weapons either at full auto or as fast as they could pull the trigger.  Then again, sergeants: their ways were and always would be a mystery.

The captain stepped up next to the noncom.  “How’re we holding?”

Muldoon gestured out towards No Man’s Land.  “We’re holding.  Can’t say the same about the ammo though.  Bastards just don’t know when to quit.” 

Captain Louat found his eyes instinctively following the direction Muldoon indicated.  He would relive this moment forever in his nightmares, breaking out into a cold sweat whenever he recalled the grotesque visages of the horrors coming out of Canberra.  What used to be men, women, and children, now twisted abominations of flesh and metal; corpses fused together with whatever metal they were touching when the Cloud overcame them.  Too warped and horrible to know they were supposed to be dead.

The only consolidation was that there were no capes among the ranks of the damned; any cape that went into Canberra wore a Simurgh armband, complete with integral explosives.  Though the timer had been disabled for the Simurgh’s last appearance, any cape still left in Canberra when the containment fields went up had their suffering cut mercifully short.  If any parahumans _had_ survived… well, so far, there was no sign of them amongst the shambling hordes.  There _was_ the occasional corpse fused to a firearm, but thankfully, none of the armed horrors seemed to realize they had them.

Louat shuddered and turned away, hand resting on the butt of the pistol strapped to his hip.  He didn’t know if whatever horrors the Cloud had wrought was contagious, but if those… _things_ managed to weather the tide of withering gunfire pouring down upon them and break through the lines…

He turned to Muldoon.  “I called for air support, but I don’t know how long it’ll take.  How long do you think we can hold out?”

Muldoon grimaced, his lips setting in a thin line.  “Maybe half an hour, probably less.  Wouldn’t even be that much without the mortars and machine guns.”

As if to punctuate the sergeant’s statement, there was a high-pitched whistling that terminated in two explosions amongst the horde, a macabre scattering of flesh and mechanical shrapnel.

Of course, as if the Universe just loved to throw curveballs, the reassuringly heavy chug coming from a nearby machinegun nest suddenly cut off. 

Muldoon spun on his heel and stalked up to the ring of sandbags.  “Who the fuck told you to stop firing!?”

The private handling the ammunition belt of the old M-2 Browning gestured helplessly at the barrel and its cherry red glow.  “Barrel’s overheating sir!  It’ll melt if we keep firing!”

“Well we’re not here to fuck spiders!” Muldoon bellowed.  “Get some water, cool the barrel down!  Piss on it if you have to!”

A soldier ran up as Muldoon continued to harangue the unfortunate gun crew and saluted Louat.  “Captain!  Tech’s got something!”

Louat nodded.  “Alright, let’s go.”  Gesturing for the soldier to lead the way, Louat called out over his shoulder.  “Sergeant!  Carry on!”

Muldoon gave a lazy salute, but otherwise continued his scathing tirade of the gun crew’s competence.

The soldier led the way to an open-walled tent, where a frazzled corporal typed frantically at the keyboard of a beat-up laptop.  Dismissing the soldier, Louat made his way to the corporal, absently winding through the minor maze of cables that had been strung and laid around the tent.

“Report.”

The corporal (his nametag said ‘Stevens’ Louat noted) didn’t look up from the screen, though he did sketch an absentminded salute.  “I managed to connect to the pylon’s diagnostics systems; the wifi’s a bit spotty, but it’s good enough.”

Louat waited a moment, but the corporal didn’t seem to be very forthcoming.  “Well?  And?”

“Huh?”  Stevens paused mid-inspection of his empty coffee mug and looked up at Louat blearily.  “Oh, right.  I did find something.”  He turned back to the laptop and entered a few commands.  “I went through the logs, and I found why the pylon went down.”  Maneuvering through a few menus, the corporal pulled up a text file.

Captain Louat leaned over and looked at the screen.  “What am I looking at?”

The corporal sighed and highlighted a line of text.  “See here?  Last night, there was a power surge, damaged the regulators.”  He closed the window and pulled up a new window.  “It should have tripped the breakers, isolated the pylon from the system, and sent out a maintenance alert.  The pylon logs say it did, but there’s nothing in the maintenance records to indicate that one was ever sent.”  Stevens sighed and leaned back, his folding chair creaking.  “And then an hour ago, the pylon overloaded, and took out the two pylons on either side.  The system was designed to handle one or two pylons going down, but when three go down in a series…”  He shrugged helplessly.

Louat grimaced.  He knew exactly what happened when three pylons went down in a row.  “Can you fix it?”

“Um…”  Stevens hemmed and hawed, waggling a hand in a so-so gesture before dropping it.  “Well, no.  I can try and force a remote restart, but with the damage, there’s no guarantee that they’ll stay on, or even start to begin with.”  He chewed his lip.  “There’s also a chance it could bring down the entire barrier.”

The captain took a breath, then turned to stare towards the firing line.  He made his decision.  “Do it.”

Stevens took a deep breath of his own.  “Here goes nothing.”  He opened a new window and entered a few commands, before closing his eyes and shying away as he pressed the ‘ENTER’ key.

Out beyond No Man’s Land, the Canberra containment barrier flickered, and then turned off.

“Fuck.”

Louat closed his eyes as someone cursed.  He shared the sentiment.  Fuck, indeed.

Opening his eyes, Louat stared out at the remains of the doomed city, an unearthly groan seeming to carry on the wind from the partial ruins.  He wet his lips.  “Well, gentlemen, it’s been…”

There was a flicker, and like a vision of beauty, the Canberra containment barrier flared back to life, completely and fully.  Louat let out a guffaw of relief as the dull thump of thunder rolled over him.

Wait, no, that wasn’t thunder.  An exuberant smile crossed Captain Louat’s face as F/A-18F Super Hornets of the Royal Australian Air Force flew overhead, black eggs dropping from their bellies to engulf the shambling hordes in burning napalm. 

At that moment, it was the most beautiful thing the young captain had ever seen.

“Gentlemen,” Louat paused as his voice cracked and cleared his throat.  “Gents, I think we’re going to make it.”

Cheers and thunderous applause rang out from the Australian defenders.  One person had to go to medical for head trauma, but everyone agreed that it was his own fault for tossing his helmet into the air like a mortarboard cap at graduation. 

The celebrations that night would go on late into the following morning.

In the skies high above the city of the damned, a chuckle carried through the wind.

 _“S̲͓͌͂̐ͨ͠o̪͚͇̙̝̅̉͐ͥ̔ò̶̲̼͙̻̣̙͎́ͤ̌̉̓ň̮̑͐̎ͩ͌̀͢_.̜̤̥̫̺̺ͣ̆͂ͥ̆ _…”_


	40. Monitor 7:1

As it did every morning, Danny’s trusty old alarm clock went off at an ungodly hour, ringing like the timer on a movie bomb.  Grumbling, the aging father slammed a hand down on top of the clock, and then again and again as the clock refused to stop ringing.  Finally, the damn thing stopped, several new dents added to the device’s dinged up patina. 

Sitting up, Danny blinked blearily, put his glasses on, and then blinked blearily some more.  Really, this early in the morning, the glasses were somewhat superfluous.

Grunting, Danny looked at the unrepentant alarm clock and glared.  Five O’clock.  Why was he getting up this early? 

…

Oh, right.  Work.  What he did to keep a roof over his head.  Yay.  ‘Course, things had been looking up at the docks lately, but still…

Hauling himself out of bed, he shuffled out of his room and down the hall to the bathroom for his morning ablutions.  On the way back, he paused at a certain door.

Pushing the ajar door further open, Danny peeked into Taylor’s room.  He sighed.  The bed was unslept in again.  Shaking his head, Danny softly closed the door and continued his way back to his room, his head lost in thoughts.

Danny was worried about Taylor.  It’d been days since she’d been home.  Ever since the attack on the dockyards, she’d been cooped up in her lab, working on some project or another.  She was being unusually tight-lipped about it; usually Taylor was willing to share at least a few details on whichever project she was working on.  But this time, not even his grandchildren could tell Danny anything about it.  That’s what really had him worried; what was Taylor working on that she couldn’t… or _wouldn’t_ tell her own family about?

Sighing, Danny finished getting dressed and meandered downstairs for breakfast.  He could only hope this wasn’t a return to… before.  After Annette died…

Danny shook his head free of thoughts.  No.  No, this wasn’t a return to that.  He wouldn’t let it.

If Taylor hadn’t come out of her lab by the end of the week, Danny resolved, he’d go in there and drag her out himself.  After all, it was a father’s prerogative to make sure his daughter was taking care of herself.

* * *

 

As it did every morning, Danny’s trusty old alarm clock went off at an ungodly hour, ringing like the timer on a movie bomb.  Grumbling, the aging father slammed a hand down on top of the clock, and then again and again as the clock refused to stop ringing.  Finally, the damn thing stopped, several new dents added to the device’s dinged up patina.

Thank God it was the weekend, when he got to sleep in for three whole hours.  Whoo. 

Sitting up, Danny blinked blearily, put his glasses on, and then blinked blearily some more.  Hauling himself out of bed, he shuffled out of his room and down the hall to the bathroom for his morning ablutions.  On the way back, he paused at a certain door.

Danny made to push the door open and paused.  Taylor’s door was closed all the way.  With bated breath, Danny gingerly turned the doorknob and gently opened the door.  His heart caught in his throat, relief flooding his veins like ice water as he took in the two prosthetic legs laying haphazardly on the floor by the bed, the prosthetic arm on the nightstand, and the large lump under the blankets, dark wavy hair spilling out across the pillows.

Quiet as a mouse, Danny shut the door and pressed his forehead against the cool wood.  She was home.  Taylor was home!

He should make breakfast, Danny decided as he returned to his bedroom and got dressed.  Bacon and eggs.  Maybe pancakes.  Yes, bacon, eggs, and pancakes sounded about right.  Just the thing for his baby girl to wake up to after her first night back in her own bed at home.

Humming to himself, Danny carefully padded down the stairs, making sure to skip the creaky ones.  He could almost smell the bacon already as he threaded his way through the living room, sliding between the coffee table and the couch with the soundly sleeping teenage brunet splayed across its cushions, and stepping past the ash blonde sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons.

Entering the kitchen, Danny made a beeline for the fridge.  He could already hear the bacon sizzling in the pan.

“Hey Grandpa.”

“Hey Lan.”

Danny froze, before slowly turning around.  There, sitting at the kitchen table and reading the comics, was a young, green-eyed boy with messy brown hair.

Danny stared at the boy, and the boy stared back, until Danny realized that he wasn’t just imagining the sounds and smells of cooking bacon earlier.  Glacially, Danny turned his head to look at the stove, and the tall man with shaggy black hair tied up in a short ponytail flipping bacon in a cast-iron pan.

The man turned, a pair of tongs in hand, and nodded to Danny.  “Good morning Grandfather.”

Something clicked in Danny’s brain.  “Baryl?”

The man smiled.  “Indeed.”

“Huh.”  Danny turned back to the boy at the kitchen table.  “Lan?”

Lan beamed.  “Yup!”

Slowly, Danny turned to look back at the entrance to the living room as something else clicked together in his brain.  “So, back there was…?”

“Iris and Alpha, yes,” Baryl replied, a small smile on his face.  “Or, as he has decided he wants his civilian name to be, Alf.”

“Huh.”

Sitting at the table across from Lan, Danny looked down at the plate that Baryl slid in front of him.  Huh, bacon, eggs, and pancakes.  Looks like certain things ran in the family, then.  Grabbing the butter and maple syrup, Danny applied the proper amount of condiments to his pancakes

Picking up the fork left next to the plate, Danny cut off a chunk of pancake and proceeded to stab the piece of flaky breakfast flat cake and stuff it in his mouth.  He started to chew, only to slow to a halt as the taste hit him.

‘ _Oh…_ ’

Chewing slowly, Danny eventually and reluctantly swallowed.  That was… that was far better than any thing he could make.  Huh.  Seems Baryl got Taylor’s talent at cooking… which she certainly hadn’t gotten from him, that’s for certain.

Taking another bite of delicious pancake, Danny gestured at Lan with his fork.  “So, uh… is this what Taylor’s been working on these last few days, all cooped-up in her lab the entire time?”

“Partially,” Baryl explained, placing a plate of pancakes in front of Lan and a cup of coffee next to Danny’s plate.  He rolled up the sleeves of his black, button-up shirt, exposing the pale, pristine skin of his muscular forearms.  “She spent a good amount of time building Lan and Iris their bodies and upgrading Alf’s and mine, but the vast majority of her time was spent on a secret project.”  The Reploid rolled his sleeves back down and shrugged as he returned to tend to the sausage and bacon.  “Two, actually.  The only thing I can say is that she finished work on both of them.”

Danny took a sip of his coffee and immediately perked up.  Black and probably used as paint stripper, like good Navy coffee should be.  Perfect.  Taking another sip, he set the cup back down.  “Sounds like she had a tinker fugue,” Danny mused.  “I think the last one she had was when she built her first prosthetics.  Which was her first fugue, come to think of it.”  He shrugged.  “Guess she was overdue for another one.”

The scuffing of metal on linoleum heralded Taylor’s entrance into the kitchen, the bleary-eyed girl shuffling into the room on her bare prosthetics.  She slouched to the pantry and started blindly searching within.

“Huh.  Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Danny muttered as he took a sip of coffee.  “Or she, as the case may be,” he corrected, putting the cup down.

Taylor didn’t respond, pulling a can from the pantry and staring at it blankly.  Silently stepping up behind her, Baryl pulled the can from Taylor’s hands and gently replaced it with a box of teabags.  Grunting, Taylor took the teabags and shambled to the stove, dropping the box into the teapot and staring expectantly at it.

Sighing, Baryl put the can back on its shelf and closed the pantry before going to rescue the tea.  Taylor, for her part, simply stared blankly at the stove until Baryl finished preparing the tea, put the teapot back on the stove, and turned the burner on to a medium heat.

Danny shook his head at the display.  “Oof.  Haven’t seen her this bad since her last sleepover with Emma.”  Taking another sip of coffee, Danny pointedly did not flinch at mentioning Taylor’s former friend.  Thankfully, Taylor seemed not to have noticed, fixated as she was on the teapot.  But it was hard not to think of Emma as still being Taylor’s friend; even after Taylor had reluctantly explained Emma’s part in her torment, a part of him still remembered the gap-toothed little redhead who was almost a second daughter to him.

Leaning back in his chair, Danny stared up at the ceiling.  ‘ _Emma, what happened to you?  What made you turn away from that sweet little girl you used to be?’_   He shook his head.  _‘God, I still haven’t tried to talk to Alan about this.  Dammit, what kind of coward am I, can’t even talk to my oldest friend?’_

The whistling of the teapot pulled Danny from his maudlin thoughts, and he watched as Taylor flopped down into a chair and took a long pull from her fresh mug of tea.

“So,” Danny teased with a smile.  “Are we awake?”

“Murgle.”

Snorting with amusement, Danny took a sip of coffee.  “Guess not.”

As Taylor seemed disinclined to talking, nursing her cup of tea like a drunk nursing a hangover cure, Danny decided to enjoy the quiet.  Baryl and Lan appeared to be enjoying the peaceful morning calm as well, an unspoken consensus that Iris and Alf also seemed to have reached as they wandered in, lured by the delicious scent of bacon.  Though it was a little odd to see the rambunctious Alpha so serene and quiet, it just served to add to the tranquil atmosphere.

Just the perfect way for a family to share breakfast together.

* * *

 

“How did you all talk me into this?” Taylor asked from the passenger seat as she adjusted the simple, white cotton glove over her left hand (While Taylor could have coated her prosthetics with her latest strain of artificial skin, she had ultimately decided against it.  The mechanical realities of the Variable Weapons System meant that any permanent covering for her arm needed to have seams between swatches so as to facilitate the smooth function of the VWS’s transformations.  The seams in Taylor’s first, and so far, only, experiment with applying her artificial skin to her robotic arm had resulted in such a disturbing uncanny valley effect that she’d promptly shelved the project, settling for other methods of covering the exterior of her prosthetics.  Currently, Taylor’s prosthetics sported a simple eggshell-white enamel coating, an upgrade from the bare metal she’d had before).

Danny chuckled at his daughter’s resigned expression as he parked the truck on Market Street.  “Well, for one, you’ve been cooped up in your lab for the past few days.”  He paused as he turned off the old vehicle.  “In fact, between that and studying, it’s really all you ever do.  You need to get out more, Kiddo.”

“I get out,” Taylor denied indignantly, as she opened her door.

“Going out in costume doesn’t count,” Danny retorted, opening his own door and sliding out of the truck.  “Besides, this is a family outing, it’ll do you good.”

“Still don’t know how you talked me into this,” Taylor groused.

“I believe,” Baryl interjected, hopping down from the bed of the old pickup.  “It had something to do with the way Alf was looking at you.”

“Ah, yes, that would do it,” Taylor muttered.  “Seriously, how did he get his eyes to glisten like that?  I _know_ I didn’t include that in the designs…”

“It’s Alf,” exclaimed Lan, dropping the tailgate and stepping down, before helping his sister down from the truck bed.  Iris, for her part, simply smoothed out her yellow sundress before nodding in agreement. 

“Are you really so surprised?”  Iris inquired.  “The way he inhaled his breakfast, how could he pass up the chance for lunch?”

Rolling over the side of the truck, Alf flopped to the ground and then sat up.  “Can we have pancakes?  I like pancakes.”

Iris pointed to Alpha, her face set in a ‘see-what-I-mean?’ expression. 

Taylor gave her father a pleading look; Danny simply smiled and rolled his hand in a ‘go-on’ gesture.  Sighing, Taylor turned to her youngest child.  “Sorry Alf, pancakes are a breakfast food.  We get to have something else for lunch.”

A look of glee crossed Alpha’s face as he bounced to his feet.  “Something else?  Oh boy!”  The young Reploid’s smile was blinding as he clapped in delight.

Barking out a laugh, Danny started walking down the street.  “Well, when you put it like that.  Come on all.”

The small procession proceeded down the street, accompanied by Alf’s aimless babbling about food.  Though it wasn’t as well known or as fancy as the Boardwalk, Market Street did have a certain charm to it; it was clean, and more importantly, crime free, thanks to the police headquarters at the end of the block.  As such, Market Street was a thriving locale for shopping and leisure.

However, while nice, those factors were not Market Street’s claim to fame.  No, that honor belonged to the storefront that Danny stopped in front of.

“Behold,” Danny declared with a grandiose air, arms thrown up and out to the side.  “Brockton Bay’s most infamous burger joint!”

Taylor rolled her eyes.  “Dad.  It’s Fugly Bob’s.  We’ve all been here before.”  She paused, and reconsidered her previous statement.  “Well, you and I have.”  She shook her head.  “But really, you chose Fugly Bob’s for our first family outing?”

“Of course,” explained Danny.  “Fugly Bob’s is a staple of Brockton Bay’s culinary experience.”

Snorting, Taylor crossed her arms.  “It’s a fast food place.  And the food here is more grease than meat.”

Waving his hand flippantly, Danny blew a raspberry.  “I’ll have you know; your mother and I had our first date here.  It’s much more than some mere fast food place.”

Taylor blinked.  “Oh, well, that changes things, I guess.”  She sighed.  “Yeah, alright, let’s go eat at the heart attack factory.”

Danny clapped his hands together, a big smile on his face as he turned to walk to the front doors.  “Great.  Let’s go!”

* * *

 

“I regret everything,” Danny muttered.

Taylor couldn’t help but agree with her father as she watched Alf stuff yet another chunk of his ten-pound burger into his mouth.  “Well… you did agree to get him the Challenger.” 

“I regret _everything_.”

“At least it’s free if he finishes it within the hour?”

“ _Everything._ ”

Sighing, Taylor turned away from her father and back to her own, more reasonable quarter-pound burger and small fries.  Actually, everyone’s order was more reasonable than Alpha’s 10lb monstrosity.  Baryl with his grilled-chicken sandwich and onion rings, Lan with his chicken nuggets and fries, Danny with his double-quarter pounder with all the fixings, and Iris with her veggie burger. 

While it was a little strange to see Iris eat her burger with a knife and fork, it still didn’t hold a candle to the center ring spectacle that was Alf and his ten-pound burger, his beach bucket of fries, his basket of onion rings, and an entire jug of vanilla milkshake.  Out of which, only half his burger remained.

“It’s like a train wreck… but I just can’t look away,” Lan muttered next to Taylor.  “Where is he even putting it?”

“I have no idea,” Taylor muttered in return.  Honestly, she hadn’t the foggiest, and she’d built the Reploid.  Alpha’s stomach, like his siblings’, was designed to stretch like a human’s did.  While theoretically it could hold the volume of food Alpha was eating, the sheer speed at which he was packing it away was certainly stretching, if not outright breaking, the calculated design thresholds.

 _‘Did I miscalibrate one of his internal sensors?’_ Taylor wondered.  _‘Seriously, I’d have thought he’d be bent over with a stomach ache by now, the speed he’s going.’_

Taking a breath, Taylor stood up.  “I’m, uh… going to go get a refill,” she explained, shaking her empty cup, what ice cubes remained rattling off the insides of the cheap wax paper. 

Standing up and stepping away from the table, Taylor walked over to the soda fountain, striding past all the silent faces watching Alf devour his lunch with horrified fascination.

‘ _Let’s see… Coke or Pepsi?’_

Ultimately deciding on Coke, Taylor refilled her cup.  No diet anything for her, thank you.  She wasn’t dieting, the sweetener the diet stuff used left a horrible aftertaste, and besides, she needed all the sugars and calories she could get to power her prosthetics.

It was just as she was putting the lid back on her cup when it happened.

“Oh em gee!  Is that you Taylor?”

A chill went down Taylor’s spine as a sickeningly sweet, familiar voice sounded behind her.  For a brief moment, she was back at school, helpless to do anything

‘ _No.’_ Her fist clenched, servos whining and metal creaking under the strain.  ‘ _No.  This isn’t Winslow.  This is the real world._ ’  Taylor took a deep breath.  ‘ _I’ve fought Skidmark and Hookwolf.  Saved a pair of kidnapped girls in a high-speed motorcycle chase and killed a monster.  I brought down Saint and brought him to justice.  I fought Oni Lee and survived!  I can face a simple bully.  She is_ nothing _!’_

Letting out her breath, Taylor adopted a bored expression and turned around.  “Emma,” she greeted blandly, idly sipping from her straw.

“Look at you,” Emma Barnes crowed, demurely twirling a strand of her long, fiery red hair around her finger.  “Out and about in public.  You’ve even bathed.  Good for you!”

Taylor stared blankly at Emma, slowly sipping her drink out the corner of her mouth as she looked her former friend over.  She looked much like she had that last fateful day Taylor had been whole.  Long red hair falling past her shoulders, a headband keeping the bangs out of her face.  Thin, though not anorexically so, and curvy, with a bust that many of their peers envied.  She wore some sort of short pink skirt and a white button-up blouse.  Emma was also about a head shorter than Taylor was, now that she no longer habitually slouched.  Something it seemed Emma hadn’t noticed yet.

Also, bathing?  Was she alluding to the locker?  If so, it was a poor choice of weaponry for Emma.  Time heals all wounds, after all, and Taylor had had literal months to work through the trauma.  There was also the fact that her memories of the locker after being shoved in there were fuzzy at best—a common side effect of massive physical trauma, the doctors had said.  Perhaps if the ambulance hadn’t been collateral in a cape fight… Whatever the case may be, Emma’s quip might have had some bite she’d made it a few days or weeks after the incident, as opposed to several months later.

Of course, there was also the possibility Emma was insinuating that Taylor had poor hygiene.  That _was_ one of her more go-to insults, Taylor recalled.

For a moment, Taylor considered the merits of responding in kind, making a quip about plucking an imaginary mustache perhaps.  But then, that would involve lowering herself to Emma’s level, wouldn’t it? 

God.  It was all just so… infantile.  The words hurt, coming from someone who had been her friend, her _sister_ in all but blood.  But… the veiled insults somehow lacked the bite they used to carry.

Ultimately, Taylor simply shook her head, turned around, and walked away.  “Goodbye Emma.”

“Wha-? Hey!”  Lunging forward, Emma grabbed Taylor’s left wrist, pulling the taller girl to a halt.  “You don’t get to walk away from me,” Emma sneered, face twisted into an ugly snarl.  “You… don’t…”  She trailed off, her snarl melting away into confusion as she slowly looked down where her hand gripped Taylor’s.

Taylor pulled her hand away from Emma’s, and fixed her with a glare.  “ _Goodbye,_ Emma.”  She resumed walking away, ignoring Emma, and the way the redhead was staring at her hand in bafflement.

“Hey, Dad,” Taylor muttered as she returned to the table.  “I think it’s about time we leave.”

“Hmm?”  Danny turned away from Alf stuffing the last triumphant bite of his burger into his mouth, his puffed-up cheeks putting chipmunks to shame.  “What do you…?”  He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as his gaze fell on Emma.  “Ah.  Yes, I think you might be right.”  He eyed Alf as the Reploid swallowed the last of his burger.  “Well, we were all just waiting on Alf, really.”  The youngest of the Hebert siblings had been the last to finish his food, after all.

Standing up and pushing his chair back under the table, Danny brushed off his lap of any errant crumbs.  “Right everyone, time to go.  We got places to do, things to be.”

Alf giggled.  “You said that wrong, Gran’pa!”

Danny sniffed as he put on an air of mock disdain.  “I know what I said.” 

As he ushered his growing family towards the door, Danny spared a second to turn and make eye contact with Emma.  Emma met his gaze, but didn’t last long under the accusatory, disappointed stare.  She averted her eyes, unable, or perhaps unwilling to confront the feelings that look brought forth.

With Emma turning away, Danny turned back to his family and followed them out the front doors.

As they walked away from the restaurant and back to the truck, Danny strode up next to Taylor.  “So, baby girl, why don’t you show us what you’ve been working on all week?”

Although the question was only partially an attempt to get Taylor’s mind off her… encounter in Fugly Bob’s, it still worked.

Taylor hummed in thought, before giving her father a smile.  “Yeah.  I think I can do that.”


End file.
